


Dogmata

by ChromeHoplite, gxlden



Series: Dogmata [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, Cryptids, Demon Sebastian Michaelis, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Paranormal, Psychics, Voyeurism, soul-snatching, x-files au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChromeHoplite/pseuds/ChromeHoplite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxlden/pseuds/gxlden
Summary: Dogmata- a certain principle, or set of principles, laid down by an authority considered to be incontrovertibly true.For Ciel Phantomhive, those tenets were wholly scientific; research and investigation, experimentation, equations and quantification; cold, hard facts. For Sebastian Michaelis, they were anything but -- they were beyond explanation. Supernatural, paranormal, magical and mystical. All things spooky, kooky, and whatever it is that goes "bump" in the night. The lust of a succubus, or the autonomy of a golem. The hunger of a starving demon, or the flavor of a pure soul corrupted by desire; he knew these things better than anyone.Where unanswerable questions meet with tumultuous emotions, an investigative team of FBI agents is thrown into the thick of human and nonhuman experience, where the two worlds collide, bringing to the forefront of our perception of destruction and decay, mystery and beauty.What happens when an unstoppable inquiring force meets an unexplainable immovable object?





	1. Tempus Fugit

Sebastian heard the interloper coming the moment his foot had made contact with the first step, faint against the original worn strip hardwood that creaked incessantly within the governmental building, but loud enough to announce his eventual arrival. From what his hearing could detect, the gait belonged to a petite individual, likely male by the way their weight was evenly distributed from heel to toe rather than one denoting a heeled shoe. 

He sighed, a slight growling rumble sounding from his stomach as he continued thumbing through the mountainous pile of newspaper articles he’d retrieved from the neglected archive room down the hall. He didn’t trust modern technology not to have been tampered with, so he’d taken to organizing and cataloguing the hard copy records appropriately and sorting through them in the event that _someone_ had miraculously overlooked _something_. The case he’d been currently investigating spanned no less than two decades and had been officially declared a cold one some years ago when the bureau had finally given up on trying to divert funds to solve it. Incidentally, the same number of years had passed since Sebastian had made a contract with his current master under the pretense that he would be well fed and compensated generously for his _efforts_ ; but here he was, starved and agitated and in need of an extended business trip so that he could appease his hunger without his contractor breathing down his neck and keeping him on such a short leash.

Not unlike the old archive room, he too had been relegated to the basement, which suited him just fine. He certainly didn’t mind the overt dampness of the concrete walls, or the mild mustiness contained therein. Sebastian Michaelis was more at home being in near darkness, losing track of time without the tell-tale signs one was privy to when they had windows. Besides, if he were upstairs, he’d have to conform to what the lackeys expected of cubicles. Here at least, he had his own office to put up his clippings, photographs, torn passages from age-old latin texts and iconic U.F.O posters declaring “I Want to Believe” with the words _want_ and _to_ ironically blotted out with a thick red marker. 

By the time the newcomer had made it to the bottom step, Sebastian gave a quick flick of his wrist, forcing the heavy door to open just enough so that he could smell whomever the top brass had decided to send down. “Lovely,” he groaned huskily under his breath, the tendons along his hands straining and raising noticeably under his gloves as he gripped a stack of papers in an effort to keep himself grounded. He adjusted the glasses he certainly didn’t need and tucked a long strand of onyx hair behind his ear, before he drawled, “Welcome, spy. Are you going to linger at my door, or will you come introduce yourself?” 

There was a moment of pleasantly stunned silence from the hallway before the door swung wide open and Sebastian's visitor made himself known. 

"You'll have to forgive me -- I was just taking a moment to appreciate the new digs," he said, stepping boldly into the dank basement office. There was a deliberate pause in his speech where he let his eyes sweep the room before focusing them on Sebastian. "And I think I prefer _informative liaison_ to spy. I have to give the Assistant Director some credit for that one." The office did not look particularly inviting, and neither did its singular occupant, so the newcomer chose to stay where he was, making no move to draw any closer as he cleared his throat and introduced himself with a polite nod. "Ciel Phantomhive. I assure you, the pleasure is all mine." 

“It must be, because it certainly isn’t mine,” Sebastian grumbled as he finished leafing through the yellowed news articles before he even so much as thought about facing _Ciel Phantomhive_. He’d picked up enough information about the Assistant Director’s new lap dog without looking at him. Based on the angle at which the scent of his breath wafted into the room, Phantomhive could be no taller than five and a half feet; and the cadence of his voice, along with the ease with which he delivered his speech and breathed simultaneously demonstrated a lack of pressure on his diaphragm, indicating he was likely a rather fit, and youngish man. 

He wet his lips and finally turned in his mesh swivel-chair, pushing his useless glasses atop his head to appraise his new partner. “I take that back,” he murmured, his tongue dancing behind his teeth as he assessed the agent. Phantomhive absolutely did not belong in such a dreary setting, much too pretty for such unfavorable lighting with his blue eyes. Though Ciel’s were not like any he’d seen; they were not the kind of innocent blue that denoted optimistic, bright, cloudless skies. No, the young man’s were glacial, hard and piercing. Sebastian wondered what they would look like if the young man’s facade were to slip? If he allowed himself to _melt_? What hue would they take on then? 

“Ciel Phantomhive,” he spoke, letting the particular arrangement of vowels and consonants roll off his tongue charmingly, enjoying how they sounded strung together and pressed on, “Bachelors of Science in biochemistry, graduated Stanford University Medical School top of your class 1992, made a name for yourself as a practicing doctor, recruited by the FBI for your reputation in forensic pathology some years later and you’ve been rising fast among the ranks ever since, blah… blah… blah… Did I miss anything?” he asked sheepishly as he folded his hands over his taut belly. 

The annoyance on Ciel's face was visible for only a brief second before it disappeared, replaced by a forced smile more akin to a grimace than a grin. They had warned him about Sebastian Michaelis. About his areas of interest, his proclivities and eccentricities; the reason he had been sequestered in the basement with the musty old files and water heaters, though it all became clear the minute he opened his mouth to speak. It was as if they were trying to dissuade Ciel at the same time they were assigning him, like he had a choice in the matter. This was his job now. 

Alongside Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel would investigate the strange and unusual and mostly unwanted cases that filtered down from the top while simultaneously assessing Agent Michaelis's competence and his value to the bureau. There was little doubt regarding the agent's intelligence -- numerous degrees and accolades, connections in Congress, dozens of published papers, a book or two; clinically brilliant -- but exactly what purpose he served remained to be seen by the upper echelon of bureaucracy. 

They told Ciel that his knowledge of medicine and his experience with real, hard sciences would be invaluable in a field like this, and Ciel had to agree. He had no interest in paranormal or supernatural phenomena, the things often deemed as unexplainable when they were anything but. In his mind, there was always an explanation, but people were simply too narrow-minded or too invested in their alien and cryptid fantasies to spend the time searching out the truth hidden among scientific fact and evidence. And this was something that Ciel was very good at. Agent Michaelis could come up with whatever wild accusations and theories he wanted -- Ciel planned to be there to ground him with the cold hard facts. Hopefully he could wipe that smug look off his face, too. 

Regardless, he was determined to perform his duties admirably and with the same precision and attention to detail that he had picked up after medical school; the time spent in the operating room, in the emergency room, in the morgue, in the lab -- it had all helped him immensely in his latest line of work. It would be that much easier if the resident crackpot here would just work with him. 

Ciel sighed and stomped towards the desk. "I'm sure you did," he said haughtily. "But we don't need to go over all my commendations right now; I'd prefer we just get straight to business." The large metal desk Agent Michaelis was reclined behind was covered in newspaper clippings, blurry Polaroids, aged case files, and Ciel rested his fists right on top of them as he leaned over to speak to Sebastian. "Clearly, you don't want me here. I don't blame you -- I wouldn't want to be here either," he said. "But you're just going to have to suck it up and bear with it because this poor attitude of yours isn't going to help us at all. The smoother this goes, the sooner I'll be out of your hair. I mean, a couple of months of this, and I'll get promoted, and you'll get to be all alone in the cold, dark basement once again, okay?"

“You have a point, Phantomhive,” Sebastian allowed as he stood and offered his rickety chair to his partner; he walked around the imposing desk and heaved an old 35mm slide projector onto it. “We might as well get on with this; I wouldn’t want to keep you from your advancement after all.” 

Once the younger of the two was seated, Sebastian grasped the handle of a rolled-up projector screen and yanked it down roughly until it locked into place. “As luck has it, I finished studying these yesterday, so your arrival is something like kismat wouldn’t you say, that is, if you believe in such things?” He scoffed, raising one perfectly shaped brow. Flicking off the lights, he began the slideshow with a graphic image of a young woman whose face was beyond any recognition and whose body was splayed at a most unusual angle on what appeared to be freshly mown grass. “Around the time you were born, Mary Johnson of Fort Collins, Colorado was found bludgeoned to death in her backyard. Once cleaned up, the only damage they could really assess was the one done to her nasal cavity,” Sebastian said pointing out the area on the image. He clicked the small remote he held in his right hand to show a close up of the victim’s face, without any of the gore it had previously held. “As you can see, the septum was torn away; it was as if the perpetrator was trying to mimic an ancient embalming rite practiced by the Egyptians. Brain matter was found at the scene, but neither weapon nor motive were detected.” 

Sebastian changed the slide again, and this time, a child no older than ten appeared. “Marcus Miller from Kent, Ohio was lured from his home in 1978 after having walked his Springer Spaniel around the block. He was found six miles away... like this,” the dark-haired agent said, motioning to the image of a diminutive form half in, half out of a creek, head submerged under water. “This time, whoever killed the boy was gracious enough to _wash_ away whatever evidence he might have left behind. That being said, when he was brought to the nearest hospital, the damage was clear.” Sebastian clicked the button again and though he’d seen the pictures many times and was unaffected by them, he winced for Phantomhive’s benefit as the image shown revealed a boy whose head had suffered a wound large enough for a grown man’s fist to penetrate. 

He did not linger on that photo, instead sharing what information he had on the remaining slides that made up the history of all thirteen victims he’d come to dub facetiously as the _Lucky Thirteen_. Some were worse than others, but each and everyone one had endured a garish death. 

“In ‘87, our last victim, Jacqueline Coleman, was brought to St. Mark’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah for a lobotomy to stabilize her personality disorder. She was the only victim out of our Thirteen in which any kind of medical precision had been exercised,” Sebastian drawled, then took a sip of water from his mug. “You see, here is the evidence of her surgical procedure, except that it was repeated, half a dozen times more. In the reports, the surgeon swears that he and his staff only operated once. It’s thought that the victim died after the third attempt.” Sebastian clicked the button one last time and it came to a blank film. He flipped the lights back on and was glad, as he always was glad, that he did not need to waste time adjusting his vision to the change in luminescence.

“So, what do you make of it Phantomhive? The upper brass thinks I’m being idiosyncratic for theorizing that the person of interest is the same _being_ for all these victims despite the fact that they all took place in different states, there’s no evidence, no murder weapon and the _modus operandi_ varies with each case.” Sebastian leaned against the only uncluttered wall in his office and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Ciel to finally say something. He’d been mostly stoic throughout the whole of his lecture, having not interrupted once, either out of politeness or because he was as fine an observer as he was rumoured to be. 

Ciel was silent for a moment more, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled before his face. He blinked several times, took his bottom lip in between his teeth as he thought. There was a lot to take in. The gruesome material did nothing to faze him; he had seen plenty of horrid accidents in the ER and had encountered even worse disfiguration while working for the Bureau. Still, that didn't make it any easier. Ciel let out a deep sigh. 

"Do you have the autopsy reports for any of these?" He asked, swiveling to face his new partner. "I'm particularly interested in the first and last victims, Johnson and Coleman." Once Sebastian gave up the files, Ciel immediately set to perusing them, a slight scowl on his face as he scanned the pages. As he flipped through the reports, he began to voice his thoughts aloud. 

"Well, if it is the same perpetrator, they certainly don't discriminate," he said, referring to the victimology. They crossed gender, race, age, and most likely class lines; no preference whatsoever. It was highly unlikely any of the victims had ever met each other. "I suppose there must be something that they have in common that leads you to believe this was all done by the same individual..." He hummed, raising his eyebrows as he came across something particularly interesting. "Someone was clearly eager to get to their brain," he observed finally. "A lot of this was done post-mortem... It wasn't what killed them. At least that's how it looks in the first few cases. I see Mrs. Johnson died from the blunt force trauma; Mr. Greene had a heart attack; Ms. Spencer was strangled... The boy, Marcus, drowned in that creek..." Ciel slowly dragged his eyes up from the page and leveled Sebastian with a cold, inquisitive stare. 

"Before I get too invested in this, why don't you fill me in on what _you_ think? I mean, what's going on here -- why are you looking into cold cases from almost thirty years ago? Aren't there better ways to spend our time?” 

Sebastian had heard of the smaller man’s reputation, but he generally didn’t put too much stock into what people said; humans were flawed and biased, usually only motivated to speak highly of people when they got something in return. But Phantomhive’s assessment and detached comportment only highlighted his glowing commendations. Sebastian pushed himself off the wall where he was standing and approached Ciel to rest his rear against the metal desk just next to him. It wasn’t an entirely intimidating gesture, but the proximity would allow him to ferret other things about his partner, namely his aversion to people, more specifically the navy-haired man’s aversion to his new partner. 

“To be honest, I’m not all that interested in the victims,” Sebastian said with an apathetic shrug. It wasn’t a lie; he had no more affection for mortals than they had for a steak they might order in a restaurant. They _were_ perhaps a bit more amusing than food and once every few hundred years or so, he might have developed some form of attachment to a very unlucky individual, but that was neither here nor there. He simply wasn’t interested in _these_ victims. “I’m more fascinated in the Bureau’s behaviour and their willingness to turn a blind eye to certain facts. I mean, _you_ made the connection within five minutes, Phantomhive; I think we can safely assume that whoever caused the physical trauma to their heads, was in fact after the brain, or rather, part of the brain. You noticed the _subtle_ refinements to their technique didn’t you?” he paused, watching as Ciel gave a curt nod and pressed on, “The more fastidious they became in their _endeavours_ , the less the outer structures were damaged and the easier it was to assess what the perpetrator _really_ wanted. Would you like to know? Because you won’t find it in those files. They haven’t updated the coroner’s reports after I had the bodies exhumed just this week.” 

Ciel gave an arrogant flourish of his hand for Sebatian to continue and the taller man wasn’t sure if the minute dilation of the other agent’s pupils was a result of Phantomhive’s increased heart rate and ensuing adrenaline spike, or if by some miracle, he’d managed to impress his new partner. 

“The pineal gland. It’s the only structure that is _clearly_ missing from _all_ the victims. When the Bureau couldn’t figure out _why_ someone would want to harvest a series of cerebral glands, when they couldn’t come up with a reasonable, scientific explanation, they gave up on the case. At best, they surmised that since the pineal gland is known to produce melatonin, perhaps whoever went after them was creating some kind of potent sleep aid; but honestly, who would go to all that trouble when you have an abundant selection of over-the-counter medicine at your disposal. What I’m interested in, strictly speaking, are the explanations the FBI has chosen not to delve into because of their less than objective nature.” 

Ciel was about to say something, Sebastian could see it in the way the young man shifted in his seat, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed built-up saliva, so he positioned his own gloved forefinger over the plump rose-petaled lips and added, “How familiar are you with philosophy? You are a doctor after all, you’ve likely studied Hippocrates, having been forced to take his oath before you graduated. What about Archimedes? Galileo? Descartes? Do you recall what the latter said about the pineal gland?”

Before Sebastian had even finished speaking, Ciel flinched, jumping back in his seat as if he had been electrocuted by the finger on his lips. Despite how quickly he managed to regain his composure -- disguising his leap with a sniff and a readjustment of his position in the chair, feigning interest as the senior agent spoke -- Sebastian had already seen right through him.

Ciel had to chide himself for his knee-jerk reaction and how easily it had given him away. The agent's demeanor had shifted so quickly that it caught Ciel off guard; he certainly did not expect to be touched by him so familiarly. Especially not in those suspicious gloves. It was a little damp, a little chilly down in the basement, but surely not enough to warrant the donning of such garments. The feel of the material against his lips gave Ciel the chills. He sighed, pressed his fingers to his temple before responding to Sebastian's question. 

"It's in _The Passions of The Soul_ ," he said. "Descartes says that the pineal gland is the seat of the rational soul; where it exercises its functions... It's the only organ to which the soul is immediately joined. Interestingly enough, he didn't think the soul was the source of life like those before him. He regarded it merely as the principle of thought instead... " Ciel smirked as he watched one of Sebastian's eyebrows arch up ever so slightly at his answer. "Would you like to quiz me on Kant next?"

Sebastian’s lips curled in a semi-smile, auburn eyes narrowing as he angled his head in Ciel’s direction, though their gazes never quite met. He was impressed, but tried to hide his surprise, moving into the former doctor’s personal space in an attempt to destabilize him. “Eyes on the prize, Phantomhive. While I always appreciate a discussion on moral imperatives and ethics, it’s hardly relevant in this case,” he murmured a little huskily, his voice smoother than it had been minutes ago. “I think the reason the FBI hasn’t turned up a single suspect is because they’ve been going about the motive all wrong. Our unsub is after souls, rather than a physical component of the brain, and based on my knowledge and my credentials pertaining to the occult, humans are not generally interested in that sort of thing.” 

It was Ciel’s turn to raise an eyebrow and crack a small crooked smile. He was wondering when the spookiness would start. “Oh?” He intoned. “Would you care to enlighten me as to who -- or what -- is then, Agent Michaelis?” 

“That’s just it, Phantomhive, it could be a host of things, couldn’t it?” Sebastian told his partner, his tone a little more playful as Ciel indulged him a moment. He leaned over the desk, stretching long and lean before the younger male to grab a file and dropped it onto his lap. Inside was a collection of photocopied pages from texts and handwritten notes. “It’s entirely possible that it could be a _soul eater_ ; you know, the cannibalistic witches from Nigerian folklore, but given that becoming such an entity is a genetic predisposition, they’re likely to have been brought up with a bit more finesse in their soul-snatching. I’ve also considered the soul-sucking Nachzeher from German folklore, Ammit the Devourer from Egyptian mythology and a Souruita from Japan who eats souls to stay young, but the last one tends to have a more refined palate so their victims wouldn’t be so random. Perhaps a Wanyudo, who just sucks the souls of anyone it comes across? _Lucky Thirteen_ might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time...”

As Sebastian spoke, his eyes never left his young partner’s face, trying to grasp what it was he was feeling or thinking, whether a healthy dose of disbelief or condescending skepticism? He cleared his throat again and added the following just to be an ass, “But by all means agent, if any if these sound too scary for you, may I suggest the Boogyman, so that you sleep better at night?”

Ciel let out an amused snort and shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Oh my god, they were right about you..." This man was relying upon folklore and fairy tales to give him answers; what exactly had Ciel gotten himself into? "Boogymen or devourers," he continued, picking up the file from his lap and holding it up for Sebastian, "it makes no difference to me; I'm not the type to believe in either of them." With that, he leaned back in Sebastian's chair and threw the folder onto the desk, upsetting the collection of loose newspaper clippings and files haphazardly stacked atop it.

“No, I didn't peg you as being _that_ open minded…” Sebastian sighed exasperatedly, “especially after all the answers your precious science has turned up in this investigation.” His smile was too tight-lipped, and he was sure his eyes glowed a little too crimson behind the coloured lenses he was forced to wear to dull their brightness. He moved from the desk, bending at the waist to pick up one of the discarded passages that had flitted from the manila envelope as though trying to find refuge under the desk. He wet his lips, careful to control the impulse to run his tongue over his slightly pointier-than-average canines and continued with his line of inquiry as if he’d not been rejected, “Are you more inclined to believe in something of your own faith... a _demon_ perhaps? I toyed with the idea that it might be a _dybbuk_ , but that entity simply wants to break a soul and force the host to cause destruction, he’s not interested in taking it with him once he’s done; besides these victims don’t have a history of mayhem.” Sebastian paused to look over the flimsy sheet of paper in his hands, then held it up for the young mortal to read, “What about a shinigami?” 

Ciel couldn't help his gaze as it traced along the curve of Sebastian's backside when he bent to retrieve the paper -- call it professional curiosity. The government-issued handgun was secured in a black leather holster on the agent’s left hip. His slacks were neatly pressed, shoes recently shined and scuff-free. His socks matched his tie and Ciel could make out the shape of a wallet in his back pocket and a round watch in the front. He managed to right himself and redirect his attention just in time for Sebastian to straighten up and hand him the document.

“Shinigami?” He repeated. “As in the Japanese grim reapers? I thought they only lured people to their death.” The paper held before him was mostly useless; it was written entirely in Japanese, a beautiful and artful script that was completely meaningless to Ciel. There was some English commentary squeezed in along the edges in a cramped, busy handwriting. Squinting, he could only make out the words _possession, suicide,_ and _death god._

“It still all sounds like mere folklore to me,” Ciel said with a shrug. “Nothing I’d base a case on.” 

While Sebastian thought the skepticism had been endearing at first, he’d finally reached the point where it had become an insufferable irritant. He turned away from his new partner, sauntering towards the door, trying to pretend that he was unaffected by Ciel’s demeanor, but he was sure, as discerning as the smaller man was, that he had perceived his eyes roll skywards and tiniest of impatient huffs. This was _his_ case, the one his contractor would finally reward him for and if the higher ups had sent Phantomhive to simply spy on him to assessed how wild his postulations were, he was going to have to do something about it. 

He draped his long, tan jacket over his arm and shot a glance at Ciel over his shoulder, “It might well be time for me to present you with some evidence then,” he offered, exasperated by having to restart this whole process with a new partner. Though when he looked properly at the young man this time, he couldn’t help but feel that he had been wrong earlier, that Phantomhive might _actually_ belong there among his organized chaos. His too bright eyes, framed by thick midnight lashes accentuated the hints of colour dispersed here and there among the ancient tomes and made the the space seem more alive. “Let’s get away from prying eyes for a spell. Do you wish for us to take your vehicle, or do you trust a madman enough to drive?” 

Ciel spread his hands comically before him, gesturing to Sebastian before he hopped up from the chair. "By all means, Michaelis, lead the way." 

After leaving the office, Ciel quickly realized his mistake in letting Sebastian lead; he could barely keep up with him. His new partner had him beat by more than half a foot, and his long legs and purposeful strides carried him swiftly and efficiently through the monotone hallways of the government building. For every step he took, heels snapping on the speckled floor tiles, Ciel had to scramble to take two and not fall behind. 

“Jesus, Michaelis, where’s the fire?”

Sebastian didn’t answer, at least not right away. He strolled along, several paces ahead of Ciel with a hand surreptitiously pressed to his belly, waiting until they were both outside to say anything. The chilly autumn breeze and grinding whir of late afternoon traffic helped to cloak his unnaturally gravelly tone as he finally spoke. 

“No fire,” he said at last, allowing the young man to fall into step beside him, but still looking straight ahead as his silver Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme came into view. "I will admit that I'm eager to have a fresh pair of eyes on this, especially ones as discerning and alluring as yours, Phantomhive." Acting a perfect gentleman, Sebastian stepped forward as they approached the car to open the passenger side door for the other agent. "I'm anxious to see how you react upon coming face-to-face with the macabre and unexplainable phenomenon that I deal with on a daily basis," he added before closing Ciel into the car. 

He took a quick moment to collect himself before crossing over to the driver's side and climbing in, taking several unnecessary deep breaths in an attempt to clear his head. The truth was, the longer Sebastian was in his new partner’s company, the more he worried his more devilish impulses would make themselves known. Though he tried to ignore it, the hollow gnawing of hunger that had been previously restricted to his stomach had grown and spread to more fiendish appetites the longer he was in Ciel's presence. And while his enigmatic partner promised to be a most scrumptious little morsel, it was much too early in their assignment for him to be so _starved_.


	2. Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Self-discipline. Huh. That's the name of this game. That's the one thing that separates us from the animals-- provided you have it. But where do you get it? You can't go down to the local convenience store and buy self-discipline. You can't order it over the Internet... I lived to eat, ladies and gentlemen. My entire life revolved around eating because I was always hungry! My appetite was controlling me." - Motivational Speaker from "Hungry", Season 7, Episode 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind words and support for our first chapter. Here's the second, we hope you enjoy it!

Compared to the state of his office, Sebastian's car was immaculate. Pristine. Still had that new car smell. Ciel had expected to find himself staring down blurry photographs of UFOs clipped to the visor while he sat ankle-deep in crumpled fast food wrappers, month-old tabloids, and whatever other spooky flotsam and jetsam Agent Michaelis had amassed over time. And to his relief, he drove like a perfectly sane adult and not the self-proclaimed madman that Ciel had been anticipating. 

With his safety no longer a concern, Ciel chose to capitalize on their close proximity within the car, carefully examining Sebastian's profile out of the corner of his eye, observing how handsome the man was and scrutinizing all the aspects of his appearance. Smooth skin, barely a wrinkle or a sunspot or fading acne scar to mar his pale complexion. His hair was longer than what Ciel had expected for someone of his age and rank, the same thick, jet black as his long, almost feminine, eyelashes. A stern jawline, Ciel could see him clench and unclench his teeth as they drove along in silence. When Ciel began to grow warm under his collar just from the sight in his periphery he knew he had to speak. 

"Care to tell me where we're headed?" he asked nonchalantly, breaking the silence. 

“Not even a little bit, Phantomhive.” Sebastian’s answering tone was smug, and maybe a little arrogant when his inhuman eyes beheld a faint, foggy flare up on the passenger side window in response to the increase of Ciel’s core temperature. His mouth curled into a somewhat sinister smile as he learned forward to turn on the radio. The scramble of garbled voices and mixed instrumentation came through while he adjusted the knob, until finally he settled on the familiar gravel half-tenor of Mick Jagger’s voice. He drummed his gloved fingers against the sheepskin-covered steering wheel, mouthing the words to _Sympathy for the Devil_ , as he killed time in getting to their destination. In truth, Sebastian had no clue where they were going yet; he was _feeling_ things out, allowing the negative energies and ghastly auras of certain macabre elements to pull him in one direction over the other. Already, they’d passed the known cookie-cutter residence of a shape-shifter, the Rub-and-Tug parlour of an incubus and the meeting place of a congregation of necromancers. _Too soon for this poor mortal_ , the demon told himself.

Though throughout their ride, Sebastian was keenly aware that he was being observed. He raked his long fringe from his face, and as he licked his lips, he saw Ciel’s gaze dart down, watching his tongue. The senior agent took the opportunity to taste the air within the confined space and picked up something resembling arousal there, but it was infinitesimal, repressed. “Do I have something on my face, Agent? You keep looking my way…” Sebastian inquired in a decidedly sultry lilt, sparing a glance at his partner who was shifting somewhat uncomfortably in his seat as a result. 

For a moment, Ciel thought that his new partner had given up on his obstinate vendetta against him, but evidently he was wrong. He did not appreciate being toyed around with like this, dragged across town without a clear destination. At least Sebastian had been kind enough to save them from any more unsettling silence by turning on the radio. Ciel angled himself in his seat to face the other man, clearing his throat and trying to force his heart to stop thudding; he didn't think Sebastian would catch him looking.

"I'm sorry," he said with a sympathetic smile, "I'm just trying to figure why someone as smart and capable as you would willingly relegate themselves to this kind of fantastical malarkey day after day." Nearly everyone thought Agent Michaelis crazy, though Ciel did not say this out loud; he suspected that he already knew. At first, Ciel had not believed them. He thought the gossip and the snide remarks stemmed from a professional jealousy. But now, after spending no more than an hour and a half with the man, Ciel was beginning to see what they meant. 

“If you don't mind my asking, Agent Michaelis, what was it that first drew you to the… Well, let’s say the strange and unexplainable.”

_I'm a goddamned demon,_ was Sebastian’s gut reaction, but of course he didn't say it; he was forbidden by his contract to actually come out and tell anyone. Still, he couldn't deny the fact that the other male’s reaction wasn't the least bit entertaining, flustered as he was. They came upon a stop light and Sebastian was happy about it for once. At least this way he could take his time devouring the sight next to him. The slight flush creeping up Ciel’s neck and reaching the tips of his ears was not only adorable but positively stunning. The demon still hadn't pinpointed what it was he found most attractive about his new partner, the task was much too time consuming with all the possibilities; still he was _by far_ the most alluring one he’d had yet. 

Maybe it was the way Ciel’s plump lips were set in a perpetual pout, one that only became more pronounced as he focused on something. Or perhaps it was the soft, curved lines that made up the delicate angles of his face, giving him an ethereal, cherubic quality which was set in sharp contrast at present by the scowl he wore after having been caught _appreciating_ his partner’s aesthetic appeal. No, it wouldn't do to dissect what it was that made Ciel Phantomhive a beautiful man; he could no more pinpoint one trait than he could select what it was he liked best about Copeland’s clarinet concerto or Bruegel the Elder’s Triumph of Death painting. Such masterpieces were more enjoyable when taken in all together. That being said, he was loath to deny his more primal self which had decided that it was Ciel’s scent, the raw, unyielding frustration that rolled off him in mouthwatering waves. He couldn't wait to taint and mar every surface of his perfect, youthful flesh, to get to feel the quivering pulse under tooth, tongue and nail.

He jumped when he heard the blaring horn sound from behind them; had he simply been sitting there staring at the young agent? How had he allowed himself to get distracted by his base appetites _again_? That this small mortal could easily coax this reaction out of him and so soon would lead to nothing good. It would be to Ciel’s own detriment if the navy-haired agent did not reign in his own desire. “No need to get all defensive, Phantomhive, you're barely the first of my colleagues to be unable to keep their eyes off me,” he said rolling at an acceptable speed again as they made their way through a sketchier part of town. “And you don't get to unlock my tragic backstory until you've spent the night with me,” he chuckled, letting his words sink in a moment to heighten the tension between them, then added, “you know, on an overnight assignment.” 

Any attraction Ciel had felt towards his partner disappeared as quickly as it had sprung up. He was incredibly uncomfortable sitting there under the senior agent's intense gaze. There was something about Sebastian's eyes, a dark mahogany set that bored into him like red-hot railroad spikes, that made Ciel feel utterly exposed. It was like looking into the eyes of a snake, and it made him even warmer, pooling heat in his gut and at the tips of his ears and his temples. There was no other word he could use to describe the look Sebastian was giving him; it was one of pure hunger. The pout that Sebastian adored turned to a smirk at the sound of the angry car horn from behind them, an interruption Ciel was rather grateful for. Sebastian's visible reaction to being startled from whatever reverie he had been in was a great delight to Ciel.

"It seems like _you're_ the one having a hard time keeping your eyes to yourself," he pointed out calmly as they continued on their way. "Keep it up, Michaelis, and we won't get to spend the night together; you'll be slammed with a sexual harassment suit and be lucky to wind up stuck behind a desk in the bullpen jockeying files." 

Ciel wasn't serious, of course, and he let Sebastian know with a sly, surreptitious smile before pointedly turning his attention to look out the window. His dogged determination to see this through to the end had not wavered in the slightest. Though it would give him great pleasure to knock Sebastian Michaelis down a peg or two, he would not be so petty as to file a complaint with the Bureau. Not this early in his assignment, at least.

Sebastian gave a derisive snort in response to Ciel’s feeble threat; they'd known each other for less than two hours and already the blue-eyed agent’s prickly little kitten claws were swinging. How positively adorable. _That must be a record as far as partners went,_ he thought with a mixture of pride and amusement. He continued to hum along to whatever song was playing, completely undisturbed by the silence between them. He often found that bodies spoke more accurately and honestly than the words mortals chose to mask what they were actually feeling and he was quite interested in learning Ciel’s secrets. And so Sebastian waited. And waited. Ciel’s body had become a mute, or rather, he’d somehow managed to remain neutral. But how? He’d been obviously pleased by the demon’s appearance minutes ago. Either it had been a momentary lapse in his body’s reflexive system, or Ciel was going to great lengths to deny himself; if that was the case, this young man was nothing short of an unstoppable force of nature. 

It was when they pulled up to the semi-dilapidated building boasting neon signs with half moons, eyes and crystal balls, with runes etched upon the dusty glass and pendulums swaying in their midst that Sebastian broke the silence. He killed the ignition, turned in his seat and leaned forward, reaching over one of Ciel’s long, slender legs to steady his hand between them and with the other, grabbed a green folder just beneath the passenger seat. When he came up, he found himself face to face with his partner, so close in fact that, they practically shared breath. Sebastian’s lips twitched before his forefinger found itself just under Ciel’s chin, stopping him from looking away. “Fight it all you want Phantomhive,” he murmured heatedly between them, “but you'll come to realize that you can't lie to me. Oh, you can lie to yourself all you want, try to convince yourself otherwise, but the truth is the truth, whether there's evidence for it or not.” He straightened up again, schooling his expression into one of polite disinterest as he allowed Ciel to mull over his words, hoping his partner had caught the double meaning as they pertained to both his desires and his work. “Ahhh… and here's where I meant to bring us. Now be a good boy, mind your manners and do try to keep an open mind, won't you?”

"You've got to be kidding me," Ciel hissed once Sebastian had opened his door. He hadn't missed the hint of a self-satisfied smirk on his partner's face as he exited the car, and Ciel was nearly furious. The presumptuous older agent had invaded his space, again; he had touched him, _again._ Ciel had managed to not flinch when that gloved hand took hold of his chin, but he couldn't deny his sudden desire to reach out and snap those long, brazen fingers. And what was that about lying to him? Lying to himself? Ciel would not deny that his partner was physically handsome and conceptually attractive -- highly intelligent, determined, resourceful -- and his response to that was completely natural, but he found him utterly infuriating. And Ciel hadn't even spent a whole day with him... This was going to be harder than he thought. 

"I'll be a good boy," he said, climbing out of the car and slamming the door with perhaps a little more force than necessary, "if you tell me what it is we're doing here first. I deserve that, don't I?" He joined Sebastian at the front of the car, where he stood skimming through the contents of the folder he had grabbed. Ciel looked up towards the run-down building, taking in the archaic symbols and gaudy pictograms with a disappointed sigh. A psychic? A fortune teller? What could this possibly have to do with their cold case? "For better or for worse," he continued, turning to face Sebastian, speaking clearly and deliberately even though it seemed that the senior agent was intent on ignoring him, "we're partners, Agent Michaelis. And perfectly rational adults… Can't we agree upon a certain level of professionalism between us? Surely we can come to some sort of understanding…" 

 

_Well, where was the fun in that?_ Sebastian wondered, laying the file folder flat on the hood of his vehicle and compelling the sheets to stay put, despite the breeze that ruffled both their respective hair. The rage and indignation that rolled off Phantomhive was delicious, it seared and crackled just beneath the surface of his skin, electrifying the demon as though he'd been struck by a live wire. He could take him now, risk punishment and further starvation, but Ciel's willing submission would be better, would taste even sweeter on his tongue. And so Sebastian resolved to tone down his failed attempts at seduction; clearly, they hadn't been effective or he would be having Phantomhive in the Oldsmobile instead of standing around studying documents he'd long memorized. "As you wish, Agent. My apologies for my less than professional countenance," he answered solemnly, bowing his head in a show of contrition, peering up coyly thought his long lashes. _It's just that I'm starving, and you're positively mouthwatering,_ he continued to himself. While the young agent was likely counting down the minutes he had to spend with his new partner, Sebastian was guesstimating how long it would take for Ciel to finally give in. 

"We're here to visit an acquaintance of mine. You've no doubt deduced what she is, Phantomhive; I can tell by your incredulous look. Mey-Rin is a practicing witch gifted with certain, shall we say, _talents_ and has been incredibly gracious in offering her help to me in the past." And by help, Sebastian meant she allowed him to sample her soul to assuage his more carnal urges in exchange for a keener third eye. If he were to resist overcoming the precocious little human at his side, today's visit was of the utmost importance. From the stack of papers, he offered Ciel neatly torn pages of a particularly old _Book of Shadows_ he had come across with a variety of interesting incantations and lists of ingredients. "Payment," he informed his partner, "she called me perhaps a week prior to us meeting, saying she had information regarding this cold case. It was the reason I picked it back up in the first place and the reason I had the corpses exhumed. I believe Mey-Rin might be more forthcoming with additional details if I were to show up unexpected on her doorstep."

Ciel gave a curt nod of thanks in regards to Sebastian's meager apology and his explanation as to why they were parked outside the dilapidated house on the more unsavory side of town, though he wondered how long this courtesy would last. “Unexpected?” Ciel raised an eyebrow. “She must not be a very good psychic then,” he quipped. 

Out of curiosity, he reached out and selected one of the torn pages, running his fingers along the yellowed edge, examining the faded print, the words written in an elegant hand-penned script in something that he wasn't entirely sure was ink. He tried not to turn his nose up at its contents: a shopping list for a protection spell that called for peridots and emeralds, tail feathers of a bird of prey, black peppercorns, sage, and other herbs. He hardly considered a _witch_ to be a reliable source, but he figured there was little use arguing with Sebastian at this point. Might as well go along with it for today; he could push for real investigative work tomorrow. 

"I suppose she is already familiar with the details of the case then..." Ciel continued, the admonishment clear in his tone. Sebastian nodded, and Ciel made a mental note to mention this little tidbit in his report to the assistant director. Even though it had not been touched in years, the case was technically still open, and sharing details with a civilian -- nevermind some crackpot psychic who advertised ten dollar tarot readings on their front window -- was highly frowned upon in the bureau. "Well? What information did she have for you? And what else are you expecting now?" he inquired, swallowing down the rest of the questions he wanted to ask and handing the paper back to Sebastian. "Don't tell me this is how you solve all your cases, Michaelis," he teased. "That hardly seems fair... What is the bureau paying you for anyway?" 

The truth was, the bureau wasn’t paying Sebastian a dime. Of course HR probably assumed he was getting handsomely compensated for his work, (which he was, just not in sums of money), but his _salary_ came at the bequest of his contractor rather than the taxpayer. What need did he have for material possessions when he could simply take what it was he wanted, charm his way into a free room at an inn on the outskirts of town, conjure up clothes and whatever else he felt helped sustain this human guise? “It’s not _the only_ way, Phantomhive,” he said straightening the papers back into some semblance of order, except for the few pages meant for the witch, those he folded in half and tucked in the outside pocket of his black overcoat, “but there are certainly some _perks_. And I might not be a psychic, but if you’re thinking about reporting me to the higher ups about unauthorized disclosure, don’t bother. They’re quite familiar with Mey-Rin; as she was one of their snipers.” 

Ciel raised his eyebrows in surprise, glancing up at the decrepit building and wondering what had led an FBI sniper to take up a profession as a measly fortune teller in the slums. 

File in hand, Sebastian purposefully walked away from the car, pausing a moment to lock the doors with a click and a double beep of his keychain, then motioning for his partner to follow him across the street to their destination. “You see,” Sebastian continued, “she was the best. Deathly accurate, good instincts, had an eye that any predator would sell their soul to the devil for. But there’s virtually nothing you can do, short of summoning a demon to save you, when your enemies hold you down and remove your eyes one at a time. It might have been kinder to kill her, to be honest. So there she was, left blind and incapable of fulfilling her work requirements. It drove her to the brink of madness and despair; much like you, she lived for her work, Phantomhive. It’s when she gained the second sight.”

“Yes, and you can see how much it’s benefited me,” Mey-Rin answered from her porch swing, petting a plump persian cat upon her lap with one hand while taking a long drag from the cigarette she held between her index and middle fingers with the other. Inwardly she knew that she’d rolled her eyes at her own facetious tone, though the effect hand been lost on those to whom she spoke; all they would see were two glass orbs where her eyes should have been. Still, it was better than nothing at all, she mused, the thin amber iris with onyx pupils that looked perpetually dilated gave her a bit more mystique for her current line of work.

She’d sensed _them_ the moment they’d emerged from the car. No, she’d sensed a familiar, powerful entity some miles back with another presence in tow; but whoever the one with the soul had been, she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that the individual in question had been enshrouded in an possessive, wispy, tendril-like cloak that was unseen by most humans and was highly craved and coveted by said entity. Things would not end well for whomever became the object of the demon’s affections. They never did.

“Sebastian, what the bloody hell took you so long? I called you Monday. Don’t tell me you’ve been too busy with the little lover at your side? Have I been replaced?” she pout attractively, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray and getting up to greet the _agent_ as the cat jump off her lap. 

“The only one who would ever have a chance in replacing you is Longbow. Isn’t that right precious?” Sebastian crooned to the cat, as she walked circles around his legs, purring and mewling for his attention, her tail alternating between twitching and curling lovingly against him. She stood on her back paws, stretching her fat little body for his hand and bumped it repeatedly when he pet her head. It was with some disappointment that he saw Mey-Rin kick her aside and so he reached for the voluptuous redheaded witch and pressed her against his chest, breathing her in deeply. “You know how I love that french maid’s outfit,” he stage whispered, sure Ciel could hear him a pace or two behind, “tell me, who you were entertaining. Should I be jealous?” he teased, kissing both her dimpled cheeks. 

Mey-Rin snaked a hand beneath the handsome demon’s jacket, round to his hip and further back to squeeze his pert rear, then pat it familiarly. “Mmm, _looking_ good, Sebastian. I _did_ have the feeling that you would _come_ today,” she told him, smirking. “Are you going to introduce me to your new beau, or should we just head inside and I’ll make us a cuppa and let the leaves tell me about him?” 

 

The feline had made its way over to investigate Ciel, who stood at the edge of the porch fidgeting uncomfortably and hoping it wouldn't take as kindly to him as it had to Sebastian. The whole situation was awkward enough, with his new partner flirting and getting groped in front of him by an eccentric former sniper dressed in what looked like a Halloween maid's costume -- the last thing Ciel needed was to have an allergic reaction and go into a sneezing fit on this woman's porch. 

Ciel choked at being referred to as Sebastian’s lover, and then again as his boyfriend; he was anything but. If anything, Sebastian was the lover, and this woman the object of his affection. Clearing his throat, he stepped up to the couple, hoping his close proximity would dissuade theirs. To his relief, Sebastian released the woman and allowed Ciel to present himself to her, though his outward physical presentation meant little to her. She would assess him in her own ways, learn all she needed to by his presence, his aura, the way he disrupted the energy around him with his own, influencing the leafy dregs in the bottom of his tea cup and the order of his tarot cards in the deck. 

"I'm Agent Ciel Phantomhive," he said, introducing himself with all the confidence and security he was able to muster under these unusual circumstances. He extended his hand towards the woman out of habit before realizing the thoughtlessness of the action. "I'm Agent Michaelis's new partner... We just met earlier today," Ciel explained. To his surprise, the blind psychic reached right out and took hold of his hand, shaking it with a firm grip and a smile. Remembering his earlier decision to play along, he returned the smile and said he would still love a cup of tea were she willing to prepare it.

“Really? Only today? Well, that’s interesting,” Mey-Rin observed loudly, disbelief obvious in her tone, “it doesn’t _feel_ as though you’ve only met; there’s just so much…” she gesticulated with her hands, at a loss for words then pushed Sebastian next to his smaller partner to get a read on how their auras mingled with one another. 

In the past, Sebastian’s aura had been one similar to a collapsar-turned-black hole; and for the psychic witch, detecting the demon was all about trying to feel out a void in her midst. It was unsurprising then, given his nature that his prey never escaped the immense pull of his darkness and their light was generally snuffed out soon after. There was never anything left of them but perhaps a paper trail that led to nowhere, and a half dozen weeks devoted to missing persons reports. Yet this time, _this time_ it was different; it was still overbearing and just as deadly, but it was _alive_ and beautiful with ripples of heat and pulsing jets of light emitting what felt like flickers of gold and platinum dust. The collapsar had become a Neutron star. And for a human with little to no interest in him. Good. At least this one had a modicum of sense and an instinct for survival.

She was certain that Ciel’s indifference to the chase wasn’t what had drawn the demon to his new partner; the fiend could tell himself all he wanted that he was simply hungry, but he was wrong. Ciel was no ordinary human and as such was no ordinary light. If Sebastian was a dead star, Ciel was a nebula, the place where stars were born: full of potential, rich and intricate in his make up as an individual, and volatile if paired with the right element. She imagined the beauty of it would be captured in his eyes and for a moment, she knew a rare pang of sadness for the loss of her vision. 

As a distraction from the prickling sensation that was insisting upon itself behind her false eyes, she crouched before the pair, extending her fingers and smoothing them against one another to beckon the feline. “No, Longbow, come now, Agent Phantomhive is allergic to you,” she chided as she heard the cat flop itself onto Ciel’s shoes. “Besides, Sebastian is the one who knows where all the treats are hidden. Come to think of it, he also knows where I keep my good tea.” The cat reluctantly meandered to its owner and she hefted the heavy thing into her arms before leading the way into the house. “Be a dear and go fix us all a cup in the kitchen, won’t you? Your _friend_ and I will wait in the shop.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the witch, having smelt the salt from the tears she refused to shed. He was interested in getting her alone more than ever now to ask what on earth that had been all about. “Fine. But if you get my _pet_ , I get yours,” he teased, taking Longbow from Mey-Rin’s arms and winking at Ciel. When he was met with a less than pleased face, he winced, too late in forgetting what he’d told Ciel at his car. “Sorry,” he apologized, though only half-meant it and walked away with the cat. 

“You better not let him get away with that,” Mey-Rin cautioned Ciel with an amused lilt to her voice, “otherwise he’s liable to start treating you as one; not that it’s the worst thing in the world.” She pulled a beaded curtain to the side to admit the young agent into a room infused with the faint smell of _nag champa_ incense burning. “Take the purple seat, love, it’s the furthest away from him once he returns.”

“Uh, thanks," Ciel said warily as he took a seat on the indicated velvet lined armchair. "I wouldn't worry about me, though. I have no intention of becoming Agent Michaelis's _pet_..." _Or even his friend,_ he thought to himself. "We have been assigned to work together, and that's exactly what I plan to do. Nothing more, nothing less," he asserted. As he spoke, Ciel did a cursory exam of the room, taking in the gaudy surroundings as best he could. It was poorly lit, perhaps by design, by a single lamp in the corner and dozens of candles burning on almost every available surface. The flickering light danced on the numerous faces of gemstones arranged on the shelves and glimmered on the fragments of mirror and multicolored glass shards rotating lazily from a mobile hanging from the ceiling. There was sparse seating around a wide, round table set in the middle of the room, draped in an ornate green and gold tablecloth with a stack of tarot cards waiting on the edge by where the psychic took her seat, just beside Ciel. The cone of incense was burning steadily in a ceramic dish in the center of the table, and the diaphanous haze of smoke mixed with the traces of cat in the house made Ciel sneeze. 

He apologized and took a moment to rub his eyes and sniffle before continuing. The situation was unorthodox and somewhat uncomfortable, so he decided to stick to meager small talk, hoping to parse out more about this seemingly unreliable source his partner chose to frequent. At first, Ciel had been impressed when she surmised that he was allergic to cats, but then after a moment decided it was nothing more than keen observation; she had heard him sniffling, had picked up on his aversion to the feline as he shifted unhappily when the animal settled at his feet. He had to hand it to her; she seemed to get on just fine in a line of work that relied so heavily upon reading people and their emotions, even if the decrepit state of her house said otherwise. If she really were psychic, he suspected she wouldn't be living in such a run down building, but that was neither here nor there. "So," he pressed on, "Agent Michaelis says you used to work for the FBI as well... Is this how you two came to know each other?"

“Nothing more… yet,” Mey-Rin replied smugly, half turning on her stool and reaching back for a candle but nudging another by accident and sending it tumbling off its holder, straight for the threadbare carpet. The tip of the flame singed the tiny hairs on the back of her hand before she twisted her wrist reflexively and caught it. “Don’t bother arguing with me, Ciel, between the both of us, _I’m_ the clairvoyant. And I did work for the FBI at one point, so of course I knew _of_ Sebastian, but we only came to know one another personally when uh…” The witch flushed, and she turned her face away from the boy who sat to her right, embarrassed by the mere recollection. She gripped the candle she was holding in one hand a little tighter and clumsily pulled a glass bowl of water next to the incense towards herself, letting it slosh over and dampen the table cloth.

“When she kindly solicited me on the corner of Washington and Dixie. She must have felt how desperate I was,” Sebastian offered from the kitchen, voice trembling with suppressed laughter as he imagined Phantomhive’s opinion of him sinking that much lower.

Ciel rolled his eyes at his partner's interjection. "It doesn't take a psychic to see that," he pointed out.

“It’s not like that!” Mey-Rin exclaimed, waving her hands agitatedly in Ciel’s direction, with the flame flickering, twitching and almost snuffing itself out. “Well it is, but it’s not like _that_. Washington and Dixie was the location of my first shop! I was just starting out and I wasn't very good, you see; I was what you would call a hack. Being an assassin of sorts gave me a lot of skill in reading people, so even blind, it was fairly easy to make vague commentary about events in my patrons’ lives. But then I started having the dreams; no, nightmares, or were they night terrors? I don’t know, but they were _vivid_. You understand, in my former line of work, death was nothing new, so I was unfazed by it, until I saw twelve individuals get brutally murdered. Jesus, what I saw seemed so _real_ that I thought I had committed the murders myself. It’s when I called Sebastian at work. I needed someone who would be open-minded enough to the possibility of what I thought was astral projection at the time but also someone who was willing to spend the night to make sure I wasn't getting up and committing these crimes. Of course the asshole never told me most of them had been committed some time ago.”

“You never asked!” Sebastian called out again, clinking a few teacups together as he retrieved them from the cupboard above the sink.

Mey-Rin puffed out her cheeks, exasperated, then leaned in closer to Ciel, making sure to hold the candle away from them, “It’s true, I never asked, but he could have said something, right? Instead, he stayed over for three weeks, until one, Jacqueline Coleman was murdered and I was able to describe every detail the FBI had in its files with perfect accuracy. I think I even managed to add to them. Nothing ever really came of that case since then, and I’ve helped Sebastian out with _certain things_ for eight years now?”

“Plenty _came_ from it and it’s nine and a half years,” the voice from the other room replied wickedly. 

“God, he’s so annoying sometimes! He’s going to listen to everything we say,” Mey-Rin said tipping a bit of wax from the burning candle into the water and let it take form and cool before removing it with her hand and setting the candle back into the holder. 

Ciel frowned, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that made him do so. He had been planning on discerning more about Mey-Rin for himself without his partner there, but now that he knew he could hear every word and was providing his input from the kitchen, that plan was pretty much done for. But he had learned something about this strange situation because of it. Three straight weeks together? That would account for the familiarity and affection that his partner and the psychic had for each other. A sudden image of the woman with her ruffled skirts hiked up and Sebastian between her legs invaded Ciel's mind and made him shift uncomfortably in his seat, a movement the clairvoyant beside him surely picked up on. 

Though he had to admit, if what this woman was saying was true, that she in fact witnessed these crimes with her _psychic third eye_ or whatever it was, and was able to describe the crimes with pinpoint accuracy... Well that would be impressive, but Ciel was still hesitant to believe it. 

"So what made you pick up the phone and call him now?" he inquired. Still no one had told him what it was they were doing there, and Ciel would not be satisfied until he could be certain this wasn't a complete waste of his time. "Agent Michaelis said you had some information regarding those cold cases... Why ten years later?" 

 

Mey-Rin heard the restless, awkward shifting upon the faux-velvet texture of the chair to her right. She hadn't meant to make the young agent uncomfortable, but she'd assumed he'd pieced together the fact that she and the demon shared a physical relationship back out on the porch, so she didn't really understand why the discomfort lingered. Unless…

She rose from her seat and walked over to the nearby secretary desk to fetch a letter opener, a pad of paper and gel pen; the writing implement should move soundlessly enough against the surface that Sebastian wouldn't be able to discern the writing upon the notepad. Once she’d settled back on her stool, she put the paper in Ciel’s lap and scrawled sloppily: _There’s no emotional connection. And what intimacy exists would stop once he is claimed by another._

She smiled up at young man, knowing he'd manage to read what she wrote even if it had been upside down and written with barely legible penmanship. For good measure she found his hand on the table and gave it a squeeze before tearing away the note, crumpling it and tossing it into a nearby waste bin with surprising accuracy. 

If Ciel had been uncomfortable to begin with, the note scribbled in his lap made it even worse. He did not want the psychic to think that he was harboring any feelings for his partner, romantic or otherwise. Sebastian could be intimate with whoever he pleased, Ciel just did not want it paraded around in front of him when they were supposed to be working; it was completely unprofessional. Before he could convey that it could not matter less to him, the woman had taken the paper and trashed it, and Ciel almost forgot how useless it would have been to give a written response to the "blind" clairvoyant beside him.

Using the serrated letter opener set on the table, Mey-Rin began to carve intricate symbols into the hardened wax she had withdrawn from the water. “Last Sunday was a particularly busy day; I spent most of it divining with tea leaves and tarot cards so it left me wide open for messages from beyond. I answered an urgent call sent by that child from the cold case, Marcus Miller, and in my dream, was lead by him to a huge hangar. Inside, there were thirteen gurneys occupied by thirteen individuals all strapped down and connected to some kind of life support mechanism. Each had their heads bandaged and from what I could make out when my dream self approached them, the wound they'd all come to suffer as a result of their surgery was all the same. When I went to the desk to confirm what had been done to them, a razor-tooth individual _saw_ me. It shouldn't have been able to detect me, but it did. Whoever removed something from their brain was most definitely _not_ human.”

Ciel pursed his lips, unsure of how to continue. "And you believe these thirteen individuals to be the ones from our cold case?" he ventured. Though the psychic’s past dreams may have been prophetic, Ciel was still reluctant to believe her now, especially once she mentioned an inhuman perpetrator. 

“No,” Mey-Rin replied evenly, sensing Ciel’s vexation and disbelief, “these individuals will be _new victims_ for your case. Though, I’m not sure _when_ exactly this will happen. There were no signs of time of day or location, or clocks anywhere. If I had only gotten to those files…”

“I could always spend another couple of weeks to help tire you out enough to help incite another bout of lucid dreaming,” Sebastian offered, his voice low and seductive as he came into the room, large circular tray in hand laden with a Royal Albert teapot, three mismatched and chipped cups, sugar, cream and milk, along with an assortment of butter cookies he’d found in the cupboard. “I took the liberty of selecting an earl grey Darjeeling tea from the foothills of the Himalayas infused with a zesty bergamot citrus from Southern Italy; at least that’s what it said on the back of the box,” he said bowing his head in mock salute to both his companions and pouring each a generous amount. He served Mey-Rin first and took note of her tiny exasperated head shake and nod towards the other man, then served his partner. “Pardon me, it seems I was to serve company first. How do you take your tea, Phantomhive?”

Ciel, who honestly preferred coffee to tea, took his with milk and sugar -- anything to cut the tea taste in half. 

"Thanks," he murmured as Sebastian handed him his cup. "So, Miss... Uh, Mey-Rin here, was just telling me about her prophetic dream... What do you make of it, Michaelis?" Ciel took a sip from the warm cup, careful to avoid the chipped porcelain on the rim. 

“I made nothing of it days ago, Agent, and I make nothing of it now,” Sebastian said, growing a little more irritated with every minute that passed as he gave his partner a tight-lipped smile, that didn’t reach the flicker of crimson amidst his narrowed mahogany eyes. Under the table, he wrung his hands, felt his dark-lacquered devil’s claws elongate and retract, threatening to tear through his gloves with every ebb and flow of his growing, seemingly insatiable appetite. He was lying of course, the witch’s dreams were quite telling-- they always were -- but if Ciel wasn’t willing to have an open mind about these things, he certainly wasn’t going to spoon feed him any leads. “It’s merely a dream. Human beings dream every night; and Mey-Rin probably more than most. Until something concrete happens, we won’t be able to tie it to anything. Just because I happen to believe in the supernatural, doesn’t mean that there isn’t a method to how I’ve solved all those cases, Phantomhive.” 

"You've relied on her dreams up until this point..." Ciel said after a prolonged blink. If he made nothing of it, then why the hell had Sebastian dragged him all the way out here? "I'm surprised you're not being more proactive about it," he added with a disappointed sigh. Though he hated to admit it, Sebastian was right. Even if there was any credence to the dreams, there was nothing they could do, not without anything substantial. It surely galled Sebastian as much as it did Ciel; they would just have to wait until something happened, until someone got hurt, or even killed. "Are you sure there's nothing else you can tell us?" He asked, turning to Mey-Rin in a last-ditch attempt to make something of this visit.

“Depends,” the psychic answered cocking her head, leaning on her stool towards Sebastian, dancing her fingers up his trench-clad chest and pulling the folded papers from his pocket, “is this a gift you’ve brought me or payment for _last time_?”

Sebastian hummed, “Both. The spells you required, and I negotiated a few extra ones from the High Priestess of the Ravens Wings coven. They were not easy to come by. It took me all night.” The demon narrowed his gaze on the notepad that sat between his friend and his partner; the freshly pressed indent of the letters no doubt written on the sheet that had preceded it were confusing at best. It didn't fit with any of the conversation Mey-Rin and Phantomhive had shared, but it could not be any older than five minutes. He would have to ask her when they discussed her assessment of the young agent; after all, it was the primary reason he'd taken them here. 

“Had they been as easy as you are, I would have fetched them myself,” Mey-Rin teased, stuffing them in her ample cleavage. “Fine, just one more thing, because I have a seance to perform involving a rich old woman’s recently deceased schnauzer.” She turned away from the demon and felt his eyes boring into the back of her head as she ignored him in favour of talking to his younger counterpart. He would have his turn, she could practically feel the darkened tendrils of his hungry aura lapping at her body, trying to taste and feel every part of her without so much as ruffling a single thread of her clothing. “If you ever need to talk; if you have questions about _him_ , here’s my card. The pager will get me fastest. Oh, and take this for your protection; you’ll no doubt need it now that you’re dabbling in the world of the supernatural.”

"Um, thanks..." Into Ciel's hand she pressed a baby blue business card and the hardened globule of wax that she had been carving into earlier. The scratches on the surface were archaic and ritualistic; Ciel assumed it to be some sort of talisman. He sequestered it alongside the business card in the inside pocket of his overcoat, making a note to remember to remove them before sending the jacket out to be cleaned. "Well, I suppose if there's nothing else... We'll let you prepare for your seance. It was a pleasure." Ciel thanked her for her time, only because it was the polite thing to do; she was the only one that got anything out of this whole arrangement. Ciel just lost his afternoon. 

"Agent Michaelis? Shall we?”

Sebastian swallowed a growl that threatened to make its way up his throat when he spotted the exchange between the two mortals. The business card was one thing, but a talisman? _Against him_? The very offering was akin to betrayal on the part of someone he’d regarded as his ally. Given his age and his rank as a high demon, the charm wouldn’t do much more than inflict upon him something comparable to human nausea, but it was enough to deter him from trying to engage intimately with Phantomhive. “Certainly,” he answered the agent a little huskily, “why don’t you go wait in the Cutlass and I’ll just wrap up here with Mey-Rin.”

Ciel was more than indignant at being told to go wait in the car like some child, but he had picked up on Sebastian's gravelly tone, and he was thankful that he wouldn't have to bear witness to more of his partner's frisky flirtations, though the thought of it still repulsed him.

"Then give me the keys," he said, extending his hand. "If you're not out in five minutes, I'm leaving without you.” With a final goodbye nod to Mey-Rin, Ciel turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving the beaded curtain swinging in his wake. 

Phantomhive had barely reached the second porch step and Sebastian was upon Mey-Rin, lifting her bodily and throwing her against the nearest wall. She hit with a considerable thud, sending paintings that hung precariously nearby crashing to the floor and rattling the china displayed in the hutch some feet away. His body molded itself against hers, hands kneading and groping her plump bottom with minds of their own as he hitched her up and rolled his hips forcefully into her, his engorged arousal pressing insistently against her panty-clad rear. The shadowed limb-like tendrils that had been gentle some minutes ago became aggressive, slashing at her costume to bare her perfectly imperfect flesh in ways that would be most convenient for him to sate his appetite in the little time he had. “Please Mey-Rin…” he pleaded, voice barely human as he mouthed the pale column of her neck aggressively, “please… I’m so hungry. I’m starving. It’s been _weeks_ …” 

Ciel had heard the faint thud from inside the house as he descended the porch steps, but chose to think nothing of it as he continued across the street to the car. He had every intention of leaving without Agent Michaelis should he take too long, though Ciel was not opposed to a little bit of snooping in the meantime. 

Back inside the office, Mey-Rin frowned at the state of her outfit. "Absolutely not." She rejected Sebastian firmly, though her body was more than willing to give in to the demon at the moment. Each time he sampled her soul shortened her life proportional to the amount he consumed, though the physical pleasure he gave her was more than enough to distract her from the loss of her life force. That and the psychic intuition she gained each time she drew a little closer to being dead made it all worthwhile. With the way he felt now, though -- the anger and the frustration, the raw desire and rapacious hunger -- Mey-Rin could not be certain he wouldn't drain her of everything she had left. Demons could go months, even years, without feeding, and she knew Sebastian's hunger was not really for her. It was the little glowing nebula, that new partner of his that the demon truly desired. That the unwitting mortal had managed to get Sebastian so worked up without even trying... Mey-Rin was impressed. She had never seen him this way. 

"Now release me. I don't want to have to banish you like some rude little poltergeist,” she chided playfully. 

“I should swallow you whole,” Sebastian growled threateningly, hesitant in his lowering of the woman to the floor. It was just as well, it was easier to turn her around and press her against the wall, one hand on the small of her back as the other held her face in place so she looked to the side. He continued to rut into her backside with slow, powerful gyrations to remind her what he could offer, then licked a hot strip of her skin from shoulder blades to neck until pointed teeth found her earlobe and began drawing tiny swells of blood. “What the _Hell_ am I supposed to do when you’ve warded him against me? He wants _nothing_ to do with me. He was sent as a spy; and you saw how cunning he is. If I slip again, if my Master finds out I've been snacking on the side…” 

A tiny whimper escaped the psychic's maroon-painted lips as Sebastian turned her around with a shove and pressed into her backside, drawing blood with his sharp canines. Always so forceful he was… It was good that she gave the other agent the talisman, though she could only guess at whether or not he would keep it with him. She hoped he would; it would dissuade Sebastian from getting too close, impinging on the personal space that Ciel valued so much. 

"Then you better not slip," she teased. She pushed against the wall, turning herself to face the hungry demon. "You may find your partner to be more amenable were you to stop treating him like a little piece of meat, my dear. Not all of us are into that sort of treatment." Because it was always fun to play with a demon, Mey-Rin slid her thigh between Sebastian's legs, pressing up against his insistent erection with a coy smile. "There is more to that man than you know. Be gentle with him." 

An aggravated rumble like thunder could be heard in from Sebastian’s chest. Mey-Rin might be the closest thing he had to a _friend_ , but it didn't mean she was irreplaceable. “You humans are all the same; calling on us when you need something out of your reach, then rejecting _our needs_ the moment it suits you. I thought you better than my Master, witch.” He disentangled himself from her, refusing to admit that his pride was somewhat hurt from her rejection after the near begging he’d done. Trying to ignore his desperately aching cock in his now too-tight trousers, he adjusted the sizeable bulge as best he could before straightening his trench over top to conceal the evidence of it from his partner. “Give me a call if anything else comes up, won't you? The sooner I solve this case, the sooner I get fed. Then no amount of protection or charms will be able to keep me from Phantomhive.”

Mey-Rin raised her brows judiciously. She could sense that Sebastian was upset. Even though he was a demon, he could not disguise the irritated fluctuations in his pitch-black aura. The void in her presence felt deeper, hot and hungry for anything to fill it. 

"I have always been more than willing to help sate _your needs,_ " she pointed out. "You're rather grouchy when you're hungry, aren't you?" Mey-Rin pondered for a moment as Sebastian composed himself. "I may have something that can help with that... Wait here a moment." In a flourish of black and white lace, Mey-Rin disappeared into the interior of the house, returning momentarily with a small glass vial in hand. "It's something of my own design... Don't expect anything gourmet; it's like a diet soda is to the real thing. I can't recreate a human soul, that lies beyond anyone's capabilities, but it may help to calm you down and ease some of the hunger pains," she explained. "I will give it to you, but I need you to answer a question for me first..."

“What foolishness is this? Are you a dungeon wizard master now, Mey-Rin? Am I on some quest?” Sebastian snorted derisively, still looking at her with something like longing and duplicity. He wasn’t entirely sure he trusted her after her defense of the other agent so soon after meeting him; he’d wanted an assessment, not for her to pick sides. Still, her behaviour in response to their meeting was _something_ and Mey-Rin didn’t always like to reveal all her secrets at once. “Apologies. You’re right about my mood. What question do you have for me?”

The discomfort and distrust Sebastian felt was palpable. Mey-Rin smiled sympathetically. The poor creature really was in a bad way. 

"Tell me," she said, "what do his eyes look like? Your partner..."

“They’re blue,” the demon snapped dismissively, reaching a greedy hand towards the vial the witch held between thumb and forefinger. His clawed digits chased it as she held it aloft and refused to let go of it when his own wrapped around the tiny glass container. He sighed, moving closer to her, brushing his lips against her ear as he continued, “His eyes are pure Hell, if Hell had ice instead of fire. They burn like frost against skin, and while fire burns and consumes, ice is forever changing, moving, melting and freezing. It breaks and weathers and cuts through thousands of feet of rock when given both the time and opportunity. It shapes the lay of the land, controls climate and provides immovable barricades. If ice can do this to a structure set in place by God himself billions of years ago, what chance does a mere demon have again such a power, hmm? And they’re utterly infuriating because every time I look into them, they're not the same, like those damnable ice crystals, always beautiful, always uniquely perfect. Those eyes, like the boy who wears them, are destined to wander and will gradually melt, releasing _his_ secrets, _his_ weaknesses and _his_ desires into the vast maelstrom of human experience. But it is I that is arrogant enough to want to claim them for my own.”

Ciel Phantomhive's eyes sounded just as brilliant as she suspected they would be. A cold, unyielding blue that held all the complexities and beauty of a snowflake, though perhaps not quite as fragile. A little bit of heat wouldn't make him melt, though too much would surely burn him... Mey-Rin would have to devise a way to keep an eye on him. Seemingly satisfied with his response, Mey-Rin relinquished the vial into the demon's grasping hands. 

"There's about three servings in there," she said. "It's rather taxing to concoct, so use it sparingly... And wisely. When the time comes, you'll want to have your wits about you. Now go, the man is surely snooping through the belongings in your car as we speak. You wouldn't want him to find anything incriminating now, would you?"


	3. Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your support in the first two chapters! We're really quite enjoying this X-Files universe and hope you are as well. 
> 
> If you haven't had the chance yet, make sure to check out our smutty one-shot [Biding Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13673742) that we posted on Valentine's day, featuring Agents Phantomhive and Michaelis.
> 
> As always, we love to hear your feedback and any suggestions you might have! Enjoy!
> 
> Feel free to find us on Tumblr:  
> gxlden ~ [Nominalbutler](https://nominalbutler.tumblr.com/)  
> chrome ~[Chromehoplite](https://chromehoplite.tumblr.com/)

Some days had gone by since Sebastian had first been partnered with Phantomhive, though not much had changed in their relationship. Once he’d wet his tongue with Mey-Rin’s synthetic soul elixir, the gnawing hollow at his core had been quelled to a mere, persistent craving, but one that was by far more tolerable and by extension, controllable by the demon. The clarity of mind that accompanied his semi-sated state allowed Sebastian to deduce that the best option for trying to keep the fetching little thing out of harm’s way, was to constantly surround themselves with other people. And that’s just what he did. 

Phantomhive did not seem particularly opposed to working in the building’s library, or the cafeteria, or the various populated labs and interrogation offices, but it definitely had colleagues and staff at headquarters talking. They never spoke to the senior agent directly of course, he’d simply overheard them gossiping about how the dungeon dweller had emerged, and it either had to do with his gorgeous partner complaining about their office space or winning some witty game as a deciding factor.

It was neither. Sebastian just needed witnesses to keep him honest. Besides, if there was more to the young man, as the witch had said, he wanted to keep the agent around as long as the case drew itself out. 

More than anyone else, Sebastian Michaelis knew that the road to Hell was paved with good intentions; and try as he might, his plan to keep Phantomhive alive and well had been seriously hampered by none other than the Assistant Director himself. His own misgivings about being sent to Silver Bend, Virginia to investigate a series of suspicious deaths that had the local authorities stumped had fallen on deaf ears. The three hour long drive they were forced to endure, _alone_ , traversing secluded area after secluded area was only made slightly worse with the knowledge that they would have to spend the next few nights together in a single room with two beds. 

At this point, Sebastian was nearly certain the A.D was purposefully riling him and one hour into their journey, he found his grip tightening on the steering wheel as his hunger had begun to steadily peak. “Refresh my memory again,” he asked his passenger, though he hardly needed any help with his ability to recall the most inane facts; this was merely an attempt at distraction, a reason to have Phantomhive talking so he could listen to his words rather than the pulse beating evenly beneath his skin or the sound of the enticing moisture in the boy’s mouth every time he licked his lips or swallowed. “What are we walking into once we get to our destination?” 

"From what I can tell," Ciel said, withdrawing the file from the briefcase at his feet, "not much. A single primary and secondary school, post office branch, a family grocery store... We’ll be staying at the one and only motel in the area. It used to be a mining town, hence the name, I assume, but now it's mostly agricultural workers... Tobacco and tomatoes. Nearly five thousand people under the jurisdiction of the Montgomery County sheriff's department -- they're the ones who filed a request with the bureau," Ciel reported. "Apparently, there's a known, but unexplainable, phenomena familiar among the townspeople... The place is known for its disappearances." Ciel couldn't help but yawn and rub his eyes here. They had left early that morning, just after dawn, and the steady movement of the car and the monotonous scenery outside was starting to put him to sleep again. He continued, if only to keep himself alert; surely Sebastian knew all of this already. Sebastian seemed to know everything. 

"Every other year or so," he continued, "a handful of young adults, all recent graduates from the high school, will go missing for several weeks before they are found dead. Always the cause of some mysterious accident. Always in groups of three. Car crashes, drownings... The last individual died of an accidental overdose on some prescription medication, the second one died of an aneurysm, and the one before that was shot in a hunting accident. While it’s strange, that isn't what the sheriff called us out there for. In the past three weeks, five people have been reported missing, only to be found dead several days later. Only the two most recent victims were autopsied -- they both died of a stroke, which is strange considering their young age... Both twenty-one years old." Ciel stopped to take a drink of the coffee from his thermos. "Despite the seemingly natural causes, the sheriff suspects foul play. I think my first step will be to exhume the other three victims and have them examined... Where would you like to start?"

Sebastian nodded as Ciel aptly summarized the various reports in his possession. Various scenarios played out in his mind as plausible causes to the _mysterious_ deaths. A curse cast by a powerful witch upon the villagers as punishment? A demon wielding deals with the local youth in exchange for their souls? A djinn? Faefolk? Roanoke was mere miles from Silver Bend; perhaps what had been responsible for the _Lost Colony_ had decided to change its _modus operandi_? It was useless to speculate without physically being there, but based on his knowledge, that area was currently occupied by a Drude demon named Al and he favoured female virgins; there was no way all those high school graduates had kept their virtue intact. It was altogether possible that another entity might have been summoned by some cult, but demons, by their very nature, were possessive and territorial. 

_Very possessive_ , he thought as he glanced at Ciel who was gazing out the window, eyes heavy from the drive, the warmth in the vehicle, the predictable melody of _Beethoven’s Silence_ playing in the background and the sound of rain that’d begun seconds ago. Sebastian smiled to himself as he turned on the wipers, and noticed the young agent’s eyes following their progression, then stifle a yawn. The vulnerability of it softened the demon somewhat, easing his agitated state and when he spoke, it was in a honeyed tone, so as to not startle Ciel. “It seems the best course of action at this point. That being said, I’d also like to find a local library with access to microfiche to study the history based on newspaper records, in case the authorities might have missed a pattern to the disappearances.”

"Hmm, yeah -- that's a good idea," Ciel nodded. During the past few days, he had begun to get a feel for how Agent Michaelis operated. Though often unorthodox, his methods were thorough, and he had the same precision and attention to detail that Ciel prided himself on. And he respected that. He respected Michaelis even more once his obstinateness and overbearing advances subsided after their first day together. Though he had not failed to notice the way he avoided being alone in a room with him since then... It would be interesting to see how he acted now that they were on a real assignment together. The first hour of the car ride had gone by without a hitch, and while Ciel was interested in observing his partner's behavior in the enclosed space of their rental car for the remainder of the trip, he found his attention waning; his eyelids felt heavy, his body tingly and restless, and he couldn't stop yawning, despite the his attempts to stay alert with strong, steaming coffee. 

Ciel leaned back against the head rest and let his eyes flutter shut. "You know where you're going, right? Will you be okay if I shut my eyes for a bit?"

“I studied the maps prior to our departure,” Sebastian offered by way of appeasing any apprehension on his partner’s behalf, “go ahead, but as I'm having to make due without conversation, I'm not apologizing if you wake up to my singing.” From his periphery he saw what could almost have constituted a grin from his partner and took the rare sight as his assent to switch the radio station from classical to classic rock. 

When Phantomhive’s breathing evened out, and four songs had played, the demon’s smoky tendrils broke free from the restraints of his false skin, stretching and curling, their wispy tips immediately seeking the lovely unconscious specimen. And when the sun broke through the clouds and the rain began to wane as if to push them back from where they came, their very essence thickened and filled the vehicle with a veil-like darkness that could only deepen the passenger’s slumber. 

Sebastian fought the urge to take his eyes off the road and admire Ciel’s sleeping form; he appeared almost otherworldly, his face soft with a kind of etherealness that only made the slightly parted pout of his rose-petaled lips more desirable than when they were caught between his teeth when he was deep in thought. A brazen wisp reached out and carressed the man’s cheek and the demon held his breath, ready to have them retreat the moment the agent’s eyes so much as fluttered. And when they didn’t, the tendril got bolder, smoothed his hair then followed the slight angle of his jawline to his mouth. It rested there on his plump, bottom lip, absorbing the soft exhalation, and Sebastian felt the secondhand tremble the rousing sensation caused. He licked his lips expectantly, beckoning the fog-like limb with a crook of his long finger and opened his mouth to taste Ciel as if he had kissed him, himself. His tongue tangled with the wisp, drawing it in further, was teased by it as it promised more. So much more. His arousal climbed higher, was revived by the flavour of coffee, sleep and something that was _distinctly_ Ciel and he was more tempted than he’d ever been to pull over, drag the little thing into the woods and possess him mind and body. 

But he would not. For now, this would have to be enough. If this is what Ciel’s breath did to him, his soul would surely destroy him. 

Completely unaware of Sebastian's indulgence in his essence, Ciel slept surprisingly soundly for the rest of the drive. When he awoke, it was not to his partner vocalizing along with Robert Plant on the radio, but to a steady incantation of his own name, increasing in volume; Sebastian trying to gently rouse him from his sleep without taking his hands off the wheel. 

"Phantomhive!" 

Slowly, Ciel opened his eyes as he entered consciousness, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Music was still pouring softly from the car speakers, interrupted by the squeaking of the wipers as they swung intermittently across the windshield, the pace having increased since he had fallen asleep in order to keep up with the now-pouring rain. Judging by the clock on the dash, almost two hours had passed; they should be reaching their destination shortly. 

"I'm sorry," Ciel sighed, stretching his arms out before him. "I really dozed off there..." Sebastian had actually caught him in the middle of a rather intriguing dream. Vaguely, Ciel knew that he had been chasing someone throughout his dream, but who and for what reason he couldn't be sure. Though the parts he could remember were scarce and scattered, Ciel was aware that the whole time, from scene to scene, he was being followed by a large, black raven, watching intently as he participated in the actions within the dream. Ciel shook his head once to clear it before glancing at his partner. 

"How close are we to the sheriff's department?" He asked. 

“A few more minutes,” Sebastian answered gruffly. He'd been so close to touching Phantomhive to rouse him from his sleep, his gloved hand had been poised just over the man’s thigh, but he _knew_ just the heat alone radiating from Ciel’s linen-clad flesh would break the restraint he’d stoically held in the past few agonizing hours. No, the moment he would make contact with the agent’s body, whatever humanity he was playing at possessing would snap, his claws would slash through the tightly knitted seams of Ciel’s trousers and display his perfectly smooth, firm flesh. He would knead and grope it, let the warmth and suppleness of it fuel his desire and growing need as he massaged from knee to thigh, then thigh to the apex of his lower body. He would take the small agent in hand and have him begging for release, squirming and screaming in his seat, fogging up the windows and drowning out the guitar solo currently playing on the radio with his broken moans and sobs.

Instead, he kept his eyes decidedly on the road and turned into a Denny’s because there was no way he was making it to their destination. He'd reached his limit and needed fresh air, for people to surround them, for Phantomhive to stop looking so fucking beautiful in his waking state. “Why don't we stop in for some lunch first, talk to some locals to see what they know?” _Keep you safe from being devoured by your partner_ , he added, though only to himself. He would need to sate himself and soon. How utterly pathetic that a demon of his rank would have to resort to such a lowly, base act on his own and in a public restroom stall no less. Maybe Mey-Rin’s elixir would be enough for now, but he seriously doubted it.

“Sure, I could go for a bite," Ciel said, completely unaware of the tension that was brewing within his partner. A cup of coffee and some eggs and toast would help to wake him up before getting started on their first case together. Not that revisiting files from thirty years ago didn't constitute a case and involve real investigative work, but this one they had now was active and ongoing -- five people were dead, and the sheriff's department was worried there might be another, and he didn't anticipate meeting them with sleep crusted in the corners of his eyes and a spot of dried drool on his lip. There was little the agents could do right now to help those thirteen people, shy of finding the individual responsible for their deaths. But here in homely little Silver Bend, they had the chance to prevent a crime from even happening and protect another innocent soul from being killed. 

The rain was pouring down now, and Ciel's stiff muscles nearly tripped him up as he jogged across the bleak parking lot to the red and yellow awning over the front door of the restaurant. He gave his legs a quick stretch and a shake, twisting his upper body around to pop his back and help wake him up. Sebastian had just driven them three hours through some dreary country roads while Ciel slept soundly beside him, so the least he could do was hold the door open for him and pay for whatever greasy meal the two were about to consume. "Shall we?"

They settled in a booth away from prying eyes and Sebastian couldn’t keep his own from enviously following the progression of the little beads of rain that had caught in Ciel’s ash-navy locks as they rolled down to the ends, then kissed his neck wetly before being absorbed by his shirt. It made the demon shiver, something he attributed to the mixture of cold and moisture when it came up in conversation as they ordered their food. When coffee was served, Sebastian didn’t waste a moment pouring a generous portion of the vial’s contents into his own explaining to Ciel that it was some homeopathic remedy for restlessness when he questioned him about what it was. Surely the scientific-minded agent wouldn’t argue with the oddness of it, especially knowing his partner’s proclivities for that kind of _hogwash_. 

Across the restaurant, Sebastian made eye-contact with a table full of what appeared to be hungover seniors from the local secondary school. Two of them, a pretty blonde girl and a cute freckled boy were attempting to flirt with him by smiling coyly and batting their lashes in what they must have assumed was a coquettish gesture; unfortunately with Phantomhive at his side, he could barely care to be interested, no matter their willingness to be corrupted or their levels of so-called purity. “That group over there,” he spoke softly to the younger agent, “I’d like to talk to them, see what they know. Often the youth in a town such as this are more perceptive to what’s been going on, hear more than what the older generations mean for them to and are unperturbed by what adults deem improper conversation about a tragedy.”

Ciel raised his brows and looked at Sebastian over the rim of his coffee mug. "You have a point. Though I wonder how forthcoming they'll be with some suited stranger..." After a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, Ciel had to rethink that statement. Several of the kids were blatantly ogling his partner, one even went so far as to wink at the debonair agent. Thankfully, it appeared as if the attention had not gone to the man's head; Sebastian sat there with a blank, rather grim expression. "By all means Michaelis," Ciel said in a taunting tone, "have at it."

Sebastian was struck with a rather possessive affect as more of the students had turned to look at them. He knew without a doubt that they were not all looking his direction, had even heard two of the girls giggle about how _gorgeous_ the little one was. He couldn't argue of course, and he certainly wasn't jealous, but it had him feeling less than charitable towards them. _Gorgeous_. What a diminutive, feeble-minded description for one such as Ciel Phantomhive; at worse, the man sitting across from him, eyes shut, long, midnight lashes brushing his cheeks as he inhaled the bitter aroma of his dark coffee was maddeningly alluring. _Gorgeous,_ he scoffed internally. “Why don't you come with with me? The kitten-eyed redhead seems to be quite taken by you, and she seems to be the ring leader, so to speak,” he said winking back at the blushing girls as he stood and straightened his jacket. 

"But," Ciel pouted, "our food...." Sebastian assured him they would still get to eat, and so Ciel, not wanting to make a scene, grimaced and followed him over to the booth of kids. If anything, the arrival of their meal would be a great way to escape the conversation with the high schoolers should it take an unfavorable or uncomfortable turn. Ciel had always appeared young for his age (he blamed it on the roundness of his face and the brilliant blue of his eyes), and he did not want to have to break the hearts of the angsty hormonal teenagers should they try hitting on him by explaining that he was in fact in his thirties. Ciel did not take to compliments or advances very well, and his partner should know this. Though he wasn't entirely surprised at Sebastian’s request to follow him over to where the tittering students sat. The table grew silent as they approached, and Ciel tried to put on a brave face as he stepped up beside his partner.

“Good afternoon,” Sebastian greeted the teenagers, pulling out his badge, “Agents Michaelis and Phantomhive, care if we join you?” He had asked the question out of courtesy, but he’d pulled a nearby chair towards the booth before they could so much as blink and straddled it, resting his right forearm on the backrest, while the other reached for the petite blonde’s soda and took a drink. 

“Agents?” the blonde giggled, “I love a man in uniform.”

“As do I, young lady,” the older agent replied, swallowing the disgusting brownish water and flashing a roguish grin to the girl when he noticed her bookbag filled to the brim with BL manga. Predictably, her breath hitched and she flushed when she eyed Ciel up and down then returned her gaze to him. This adolescent species was just so ennui-inducing; their reactions so easy to foretell -- he wondered if Ciel had been this way once. He was by far the most infuriating, complex human he’d met thus far, so he seriously doubted it. “But do you know what else I Iike?”

The girl shifted unconsciously closer, her eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights and she licked her lips as she stared at Sebastian.

“Being a pedophile? How old are you, even?” the redheaded girl answered. Sebastian’s head snapped towards her, nose wrinkled and lip curled in distaste as he assessed her. Her eyes had never left Ciel and he was revisited by overwhelming covetous sensation to not allow her to look at him with such lust in her eyes. 

Already Ciel was wondering when his Moons Over My Hammy would arrive at their table, though it was fun to watch his partner’s plan backfire on him so quickly. He hid a snicker behind a cough and returned the redhead’s gaze, one eyebrow peaked expectantly. 

Sebastian hadn’t missed Ciel’s amusement and though he was slightly annoyed with the mouthy youth, he couldn’t fault her for having lightened the mood with her quick wit, especially if it got her on the other agent’s good side. “Old enough to know that you’re still underage to be reeking of alcohol the way you do; now you can allow me to continue, or I could ask Agent Phantomhive here to cuff you and bring you to the sheriff’s station. Of course, he’ll call your parents and that nice red Mustang parked just out outside will probably be taken away from you indefinitely. Your dog was recently hit by a drunk driver, wasn’t he? My condolences, by the way.” Sebastian was glad, as he often was glad, that his mind was expertly able to multitask between having a conversation with someone and picking up a variety of others going on in his midst. And when the two elderly men had seen the group of teens come into the restaurant, that’s all they had talked about for a solid four minutes; disgusted by the redhead having arrived in a public place in such a state given how distraught her family had been over the incident.

The redhead’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she breathed into her hand, sniffing it to confirm that the taller of the two men had every right to what he’d said and when she couldn't deny it, played along a little more nicely. “I’ll answer _his_ questions,” she told the both of them. 

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Sebastian answered smugly, stood and gave Phantomhive his seat with a dramatic flourish of his hand. As the small agent sat, the demon bent at the waist to whisper into his ear, “The quicker you move this along, the quicker you’ll be reunited with your food. I’m pretty sure I see it sitting on the counter over there. Wouldn’t want it to get cold, would you?” 

Ciel made sure to grab the back of the chair and spin it around on one leg so he could sit in it proper and speak to the kids settled at the table. As he did so, he made sure to cast a knowing smile towards Sebastian and stage whisper back, "Don't make me slap the cuffs on you now." Quickly, he sat down and let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning forward to address the redhead. "Honestly, he's the worst -- conceited know-it-all. Really can't take him anywhere. At least he's good-looking right?" Ciel tilted his head back in the chair, looking up at his partner through his lashes before winking. 

All part of the show, and his adolescent audience seemed to be eating it up. The redhead relaxed, rolling her eyes and smiling amusedly at Ciel. The blonde ducked her head to take a sip of her drink and hide the heated blush creeping across her cheeks. Ciel gave her a cursory glance, taking in the bright red letterman jacket that clearly announced her athletic affiliation with the Silver Bend Bulldogs. A senior volleyball player this year, and a scholar athlete two years in a row. "I'm honestly surprised the sheriff asked for his help," he continued, taking in each of the students sitting at the table one at a time. "I guess he knew I'd be here to keep him in line. Anyway, my partner and I are here to help out with this most recent string of disappearances. I hear these are a little different than what you're used to..." Ciel trailed off, turning to face the blond he had managed to fluster earlier. "Did you know Kate well?" He asked gently, knowing from her file that the third victim, Katherine Parker, had been a variety starter on the team all four years before she graduated last spring. "You two were on the same team, right? Can you tell me anything about her?"

"Yeah," the blonde nodded and answered quietly, blinking rapidly to hold back that tears that had begun to form at the mention of her deceased teammate's name. She sniffed, "Like what?" 

"Oh, anything," Ciel said with a disinterested shrug. "Was she seeing somebody new? Have any beef with anyone around here? Did she know the other four victims well? Anything you can think of. You'll be a lot more helpful than the sheriff will be in these matters, I'm sure."

“We were already questioned by the cops,” the redhead interjected, not letting her answer. “This time, last time… it doesn't change anything. He still comes for us. Last time it was Allan’s brother,” she said nodding towards the lone freckled boy squished up against the wall, “the time before that was Sarah’s cousin.” The blonde girl nodded solemnly and her head remained bowed as fat tears spattered the cheap plastic table. “This time it was Kate, she’s Aaron’s sister; he would be here with us right now, he’s Sarah’s boyfriend, but the family is moving away today. That’s why we were out drinking last night, Agent Shit-for-brains,” she said turning her head towards Sebastian, a scathing, almost feral look taking residence on her otherwise pretty face, “they don't feel safe in Silver Bend anymore. None of us do.”

For her part, Sarah nodded again and said something under her breath. Sebastian had caught it, but he was sure nobody else did. He was curious as to what his partner would make of it if he'd hear it. The tall agent stepped forward again and handed his handkerchief to the blonde and when he spoke, his voice was soft and smooth, “What was that, dear?”

Sarah looked up, accepting the silken fabric with a nod of thanks and cleared her throat as she wiped her eyes, “I said, he sticks to certain bloodlines, and because Silver Bend is so small, we’re all touched somehow by the murders.”

“‘ _He_ ,’” Ciel repeated. So did they actually believe somebody was behind the mysterious deaths, a real flesh and blood being, crafty enough to carry on for almost 50 years without leaving so much as a fingerprint, footprint, or hair follicle at any of the scenes? "So is _he_ the one responsible for all the disappearances and deaths around here? Not just Kate and Darren and the other recent ones..."

There was a round of solemn nods from around the table. “I don't suppose you know who this person is, do you?” Ciel asked skeptically. It was probably too much to ask who exactly; if these kids knew him by name or by appearance, surely the perpetrator would have been caught long ago. 

“It’s the Alchemist,” the freckled boy answered, looking at Ciel with a hint of defiance in his doe eyes. “He’s been doing this for a long time. Longer than our grandparents have been around, longer than the town records say he has.”

“Shut up, Allan!” the redhead snapped. “You’re not supposed to talk about it. Not with them. Not with outsiders. You’ll be next if you talk about it.”

“What do I care? I’m going out of state on a baseball scholarship,” he retorted aggressively. “Besides, he’s done this year, isn’t he? He’s harvested enough, doesn’t need any more body parts to replace his failing ones, or whatever the hell it is he does.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed in on Allan, willing him to continue to talk as he nodded in encouragement. “And this Alchemist, is he rumoured to live anywhere specific in and around Silver Bend?” He’d heard of individuals such as this before, never in North America of course, these humans were much more inclined to summon a devil to extend their lives unnaturally. Europeans were much more creative at coming up with a variety of methods: Bathory bathed in virgin blood, Dorian Gray and his famous picture, Achilles and his forced swim in the River Styx… 

“He’s supposed to live in the Southern tip of the forest on the outskirts of town…”

“But it’s more like a marsh,” Sarah piped up, “water up to your waist, lots of bugs and wildlife. It’s dangerous. Nobody goes there. The cops haven’t even gone there. They _believe_ enough not to venture out there. They say he only comes out at night, so you wouldn’t find him there right now if you went.”

Ciel stole a quick sideways glance at Sebastian. He was impeccably dressed, as always, from the neat Kelvin knot in his tie down to the shiny polished leather of his shoes, and so Ciel desperately hoped that he wouldn't grab him and insist they go gallivanting off through a swamp before their meeting with the sheriff. Behind his partner, Ciel saw a waitress in yellow carrying a plate in each hand approach their empty table, looking around curiously before laying eyes on her missing patrons. She gave Ciel a nod and set their food down on the table, and Ciel was thankful she didn't bring it over to the booth were they were interviewing the students. 

Ciel licked his lips. Nevermind the urban myths the kids were spewing, things still weren't adding up, though he figured they wouldn't care to hear his reasoning. He cleared his throat and looked back to the table. 

"Don't worry," he said with a charming smile, "my partner here is too worried about getting his shoes dirty to go mucking about in some marshy bog. Though we're grateful for your help; you've been very informative. You have our condolences. This must be very hard on all of you, so we won't disturb you any longer." Ciel nodded politely and rose from his seat, pushing it back to the table Sebastian had pulled it from. As an afterthought, he dug through his pockets until he found his thin silver case of collected business cards. He pulled out the one Agent Michaelis had given him a week ago and set it on the table between the students. 

"Give us a call if you think of anything else you want to share. We'll be here for the next few days investigating." Ciel nudged Sebastian with his elbow and hurried back to their table, sliding into his seat and tucking into his meal before Sebastian had even taken a step.


	4. Quagmire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your continued support , your patience with the updates, your comments and the asks you send us on Tumblr. We hope that you enjoy this installment :)  
> Have a fantastic weekend!

Realistically, Ciel should have seen this coming. He should have known what to expect of his partner, but Agent Michaelis had him fooled. After their breakfast, they went to the sheriff's office to check in. Ciel got permission to exhume the bodies of the most recent victims and he spent the rest of the day in the morgue performing autopsies while his fellow agent conducted interviews and poured over the files. Sebastian called him later that night from outside the public library, saying that the sheriff had recommended a decent restaurant earlier if Ciel was in the mood to eat. Despite spending nearly six hours among the remains of five people whose lives were unfairly taken from them so early, Ciel was starving and they agreed to share what they had learned during the day over dinner. 

Ciel explained that all the victims had suffered massive ischemic strokes; something had almost completely cut off the blood flow to their brains. They had all died within minutes. Other than that, they had appeared to all be in peak physical condition, all but one having been student athletes while in school. 

While Ciel had busied himself at the morgue, Sebastian took time to visit and linger in the police station; he and his partner had heard what the town’s children had to say, and he was curious as to what the adult attributed the string of deaths to. After two hours of sitting on an uncomfortable metal folding chair in an interrogation room that served as a makeshift office, files from the murders spanning the past fifty years scattered about the table, he heard it. It wasn’t gossip, it wasn’t a new lead, but he’d expected the sound nonetheless. He got up and sauntered to the open door and leaning in its frame, smirk firmly in place on his handsome face, took in the scene unfolding before him. A man in his seventies was being hauled in by two struggling officers; he was thrashing about, screaming and practically foaming at the mouth, enraged by the accusations they had made. 

“It wasn’t me, goddammit! You have the wrong man!” he bellowed, voice gruff and strained from overuse. The station was otherwise silent, each individual present had risen from their seats to gape at the suspect, knowing why he’d been brought in. Loathing and disgust were predominantly displayed on each and every face in the room, and Sebastian couldn’t help but feed off the mirroring emotions. He drew in a breath and pushed the satisfying chaos of indignation and self-righteousness down to his core where it spread through him like a satisfying malignancy. 

“How do you explain all that paraphernalia? How did you predict the latest disappearance?” 

The smirk Sebastian had been sporting downturned, becoming a small frown as he repeated the last words in his head. _The latest disappearance?_ he mused, _Had they missed one?_

***

The next day had been more of the same -- real investigative work. Several more bodies were exhumed at Ciel's request so he could search for any similarities or discrepancies and he spent the majority of the day cutting open more dead people who had just barely made it to the other side of adolescence. Their autopsies revealed nothing strange, though. The causes of death were consistent with the initial coroner reports: an overdose, an aneurysm, and a lethal dose of buckshot to the heart and lungs. There were no missing tissues or organs or other body parts like the kids had assumed; no one was harvesting anything from these bodies in order to extend their life or whatever else the legends claimed. Ciel guessed that whoever was behind the recent five deaths was not responsible for the other frequent disappearances that Silver Bend was notorious for. He had been anxious to tell Michaelis what he had learned when he picked him up from the county morgue. The sun had set, the streetlights were on, and even though the smell of death still clung to Ciel's skin and his hair, he was absolutely famished and ready to eat.

It was then that Sebastian pulled a pair of heavy rubber waders from the back seat and plopped them in Ciel's lap. He groaned, “Oh no…”

And that was how they found themselves more than knee-deep in cold water they couldn't see through, swinging large halogen flashlights in the steadily increasing darkness. The marsh the kids at the diner had described was actually a swamp, dominated by gnarled green trees, their roots breaking the surface of the murky water in search of air. Ciel had almost tripped on several of them and would have wound up with a mouthful of muck had Sebastian not been there to steady him with a firm, gloved hand.

“You need to stop rushing, Agent, you might miss some _evidence_ along the way if you do,” Sebastian teased, pushing his sweaty fringe aside with his forearm so that his muddied gloves didn’t soil his face. Though it was night, it was still quite warm and the humidity was not something his human flesh particularly enjoyed. As a result of the weight of the moist air, their clothes clung to their bodies and even in the smaller agent’s current state, Sebastian could not keep from committing the enticing lithe form before him to memory; Ciel was all angular lines, but soft where it mattered and the way his trousers sat _just right_ , low on his hips, accentuated the slight sway of them as they’d begun wading deeper waters. 

He was glad Ciel bore only a human’s vision and that he’d been spared the sight of the slugs and leeches, large serpents and salamanders that circled them hungrily in the brackish waters. They had kept a fair distance from them, repulsed by the demon’s strong aura, but the sheer number of them would be an unsettling sight for any mortal. A burp of trapped air breaking the water’s surface sounded nearby and abruptly tore the senior agent away from his obvious ogling, “I could always carry you if it’s too much trouble for you to stay vertical. It might actually be quicker.” He knew Ciel was not a fan of such surroundings and was even more resentful of the reason why they found themselves here. 

“Thank you for the offer, Michaelis, but I'm not too keen on having you drag me through another mile of this." Ciel planted his feet firmly in the mire and used the back of his free hand to wipe away the smudges on his watch face. "I promised you one hour of this, no more, no less, and your time is almost up. After that, I'm heading back to the hotel so I can shower and get all this filth off of me." The younger agent planted a hand on his hip and cocked his head at Sebastian, pointing the powerful beam of his spotlight on his chest. Sweating, with swamp sludge smudged on his face and arms, Agent Michaelis was quite a sight to behold, but Ciel knew that if his partner looked like this, he could only be worse off. He had not seen him trip or falter even once, whereas Ciel had been doing quite a bit of slipping and flailing as they moved deeper into the area. 

"Really, Michaelis, I don't know what you expect to find out here," he sighed, resuming his staggered march through the water. "This type of environment is not conducive to preserving any type of forensic evidence, nor is it habitable for any sort of human settlement. We're not going to find anyone out here. A few more minutes and then I'm leaving," Ciel asserted. 

Sebastian pressed his lips to refrain from saying what it was that was on his mind; that it was the mortal who was slowing them down with his uneven footing and human pace. Instead, he wordlessly took hold of the small, dirtied hand, gripped it tightly and lead the way, kicking the swamp debris under the water’s surface out of the way to clear the path for Phantomhive. He felt his partner’s hand try to wrench itself free, heard the complaint and even the outright order to be released but it merely riled Sebastian’s defiant nature. “Enough!” he growled over his shoulder impatiently, his eyes flashing with frustration and indignation, “I let you play leader, little partner; now _indulge me_ and do try to keep up.” 

Whether Phantomhive didn't see the point in arguing or he’d been stunned into silence out of sheer righteous outrage, Sebastian didn't know, nor did he care. It was easier for the demon to focus on the small pulse of inhuman decaying energy steadily flickering out of existence that was hidden somewhere within the rotting vegetation, the cloud of gnats and the curling mist that thickened into a heavy fog the nearer they approached it. He shut his eyes, intensifying his other senses and allowed himself to be pulled in the direction of the sickly sweet essence that could belong to no other entity. 

It could be no coincidence, he thought, that a reaper would be responsible for this case when he presumed one of their ranks to be the cause of the serial murders starting some forty years ago. In all his long life, he'd never known them to go rogue or violate the natural order of things for their kind; such a transgression was punishable by a fate worse than inexistence. Still, they would be hard pressed to confirm his suspicions if they did not hurry; if they could just locate it, he might be able to force information out of it, see if there was indeed a connection. He could solve the case, be fed, sated, finally have his way with the agent with no chance of repercussion from his master. 

Within seconds, whatever life force was left in the being he was pursuing dimmed to a mere thrumming, then it came abruptly to a halt. “Fuck! Fuck!” he swore; it was a primal, animalistic sound and he doubted it registered as anything but to the other male. “Damn It!” He let go of Phantomhive’s hand and without so much giving another thought to his human aesthetic, dove under and only reemerged when his arms were loaded with two thoroughly decomposing corpses.

“Michaelis--! What the hell?” Ciel's flashlight skittered frantically across the surface of the shifting water as he waited anxiously, trying to track his partner's movement before he broke through the surface, the two bloated and discolored forms hanging heavily in his arms. 

"What the hell?" Ciel repeated incredulously. Though he was undeniably startled at his partner's resurgence with the lifeless bodies in tow and had wheeled backwards until his back hit a tree, it only took a second before he was drawing closer, shining his light into the distorted face of one of the corpses. His curiosity was as strong as his gag reflex, and Ciel was already shifting his flashlight between hands, poking and prodding the body in Sebastian's arms while his partner stood there with stagnant water dripping from the ends of his hair. 

"Michaelis, take a look at this..." The skin was blistered and putrified, the flesh drained of any human color and now closely resembling the shade of the water they had pulled it from. There was a thin layer of a wax-like substance over the exposed skin, the hands and feet were swollen and wrinkled, and the carcass gave off a scent worse than six hours worth of autopsies condensed into one. The level of decomposition would indicate that the putrid corpses had been there for more than a week, and Ciel was stumped at how that could be when they had been speaking to one of the bodies no more than 48 hours ago. Though distorted, Ciel could make out a heavy coating of freckles on the twisted face and a Cavaliers baseball jersey, faded and clinging to the torso of the waterlogged body. He didn't need a dental exam or a DNA analysis to tell him that one of the bodies belonged to the boy from the diner, the one named Allan who was this close to getting out of Silver Bend on a baseball scholarship. 

“I suppose Allan was wrong about the Alchemist being done with his business, hm?” Sebastian told his partner maybe a little callously. This was no doubt the _latest disappearance_ the office clerk at the police station had referred to; maybe there had been something to not talking about the supernatural being like the students had implied. 

He watched as a very keen Phantomhive performed an autopsy on the teen in the middle of the swamp by the light of the moon and swinging halogen flashlight and was impressed by how thorough the other agent was, how his small fingers easily accessed vital points and how he had no fear or reluctance in further dirtying himself. Sebastian held still, offering some suggestions, relying on his sharper demonic senses to pick up on things Ciel might miss, not for lack of fastidiousness but by dint of weaker of human discernment. And for all his meticulousness and painstaking scrutiny, how had the mortal missed the fact that Sebastian had been holding on to two waterlogged cadavers without a single twitch of an exhausted muscle or complaint of fatigue? 

As the examiner turned his focus to the other body, Sebastian looked at it longingly; this had been his meal ticket. If they hadn’t lingered, if they’d just come out yesterday, he might have been able to question it pointedly, to make an arrangement of sorts that would be mutually beneficial. He consoled himself with the knowledge that if two shinigami had gone rogue, three if you counted the one in Mey-Rin’s prophetic dream, then there would be more-- he just had to find them. He considered voicing his opinion on the true nature of the second carcass, when the body in question began to lose mass. The once handsome face of the reaper he held began to melt away, thick, unctuous blobs of it rolling off Sebastian’s arm and plopping into the water. His two-toned hair became muddied and sank to the bottom as it fell, pulling with it the sludgy, oozing remains of skin, muscle and cartilage. 

Ciel cursed as he watched the body in his partner's arms begin to deteriorate right before his eyes; some of the only physical evidence they'd been able to turn up was turning to sludge and there was nothing he could do about it. The level of decomposition on the high school student's body was enough of an oddity, but there was nothing that should account for the rapid putrefaction happening right before him; nothing he knew of could make a human body break down this quickly. 

"No no no, shit, no!" With the handle of the flashlight held tightly between his teeth, Ciel tried desperately to keep the decaying body together with his hands, frantically scooping the slimy skin and the rubbery bones back into something resembling a human figure, but it was a lost cause. The offensive muck slipped right between his fingers, returning to the dark, swirling waters at their knees with a sickening sound, and all Ciel managed to salvage at the end was a pair of black glasses with thick, hexagonal rims, and a bunch of the dark, grimy matter jammed under his fingernails. He stood there for a moment, a defeated look on his face as he watched the last few bubbles of trapped and disturbed air rise up and burst on the surface of the grim water. 

"Damn it." Shaking his head, Ciel slipped the dirty spectacles into the inside pocket of his waders. He looked at Agent Michaelis, who stood stoically in the dark mire with the one remaining body still in his arms. "I guess we better get this one to the morgue before it falls apart on us too..." 

It was highly unlikely they would get their deposit on the rental car back. When the agents discovered both of their cell phones were useless way out in the boonies, they had no choice but to lay the carcass out on top of their waders in the trunk and drive as quickly as they could back into town. They left the body with the coroner, though no one seemed too interested in it; everyone was more concerned with the suspect they had in custody, the one everyone was eager to pin forty years of murder on. 

Back in the car, which had already begun to reek of stagnant, briny algae and the death that had seeped into the main compartment of the vehicle from the trunk, Sebastian pulled out a quarter. “Heads, you get to shower first; tails, I do,” he instructed, turning in his seat to face Phantomhive. The small agent’s look of absolute exasperation at having been dragged out on the impromptu excursion only to have to wait to clean himself up was enough of a victory for the demon. “Or, if you’re too afraid to lose, we could just _share_ the shower,” he grinned, not waiting for Ciel’s answer and flipping the quarter off his thumb, letting it spin in the air three times before catching it and slapping it onto the back of his other hand. “It seems that today is your lucky day, Phantomhive,” Sebastian announced smiling and putting the two-headed coin back into his pocket.

***

Ciel watched the warm water drip from his hair and his fingertips, taking the remains of the swamp off his body and with it down the shower drain. The steam, the rushing water, the smell of the cheap hotel soap, the faint echo of the radio on the bathroom counter; Ciel closed his eyes and let it all rush over him, taking a deep breath to clear his mind. Ever since they had left the sheriff’s station, Ciel found himself lost in thought, stuck in silence as he mulled over the pieces of the case that didn't quite add up. Everyone was so anxious to attribute all the crimes to the aging old man in the holding cell, but it didn't sit right with Ciel. _Everyone is just so eager to end this whole mess_ , he thought. _But there’s something they're missing…_ A deep sigh worked its way up from his chest, he might've even called it a moan and denied it were he in a state of mind to care; while Ciel couldn't wash off the malaise he felt regarding this case, he could wash off the blood and viscera left from his autopsies, the dried algae and protozoa from the swamp, and after the day he just had, this was the only thing he could take comfort in.

Once Ciel had disappeared into the washroom, Sebastian began pacing; the mere thought of his partner stripped and bare in the adjacent room set him afire, like the blistering of skin, like an exposed wound, raw and inflamed, demanding attention, incapable of being ignored. His sodden clothes vaporized with a soft hiss, disappearing into the ether, taking with it the lingering smell and stain upon his flesh. He had no need for a shower now, except maybe for hedonistic purposes. And he would love nothing more in that moment than to take Ciel by surprise, to crush him against the damp and cold, fractured, blue-tiled wall and run the slicked length of his cock between his firm cheeks. The fantasy had his erection fattening, stiffening and jutting out so that it bobbed with every measured step the demon took. 

It would pass, he told himself, as he surreptitiously smoothed his hair from his face. He’d done what he’d been ordered to do by his master, and he would be rewarded for it. He just had to abstain for the evening. He’d managed two nights with Phantomhive in this cesspool of human fluids, he could do one more. 

But then he heard it. A muffled noise, quiet and inconspicuous at first, and as it drew itself out, it was unmistakable. A moan. Sebastian went rigid where he stood, back ramrod straight, head tilted to the right and toward its source. “Fuck!” he spat. What was Phantomhive doing to himself? The demon’s cock throbbed insistently as if in answer to the mortal’s enticing lament and like a moth to a flame, he was jerked forward, stumbling hand over foot to the second moan and sigh that sounded just loud enough to be heard in tandem with whatever hip hop song was playing on the radio.

 _He was in control. He was in control._ It was a mantra to help him self-soothe. So what if he had to grip his hand tightly just below the crown of his dick, a tourniquet to silence the blood coursing through it and dissuade it from finding any release? He was consciously aware of it, was he not? Was denying himself with the full knowledge of what he was doing. That was until a fine mist danced from under the crack of the bathroom door and made him its prey. It licked his shins, wisps of it lapping their way ticklishly up his thighs, circling and squeezing his heavy sac and applying an almost suction-like pressure to his leaking cock. He tossed his head back and snarled, roaring as he bared his fangs, then pressed them down onto his bottom lip with enough force to bleed them in an effort to stifle even more carnal sounds. The steam continued to tempt him, to summon him forward. His darkened aura fought back, tried to pry it from his body with such violence that the lamp at the bedside table some feet away was knocked over and fell to the floor with a crash. 

Yes! The violence was the distraction he needed. Soon, he was clawing at the egyptian-themed blanket, growling as he tore through it and reduced it to threads. The bed was overturned, the headboard pulverized to sawdust and the television had suffered a worse fate than any other object in the room. It was madness; an aphrodisiac more potent than he’d ever encountered in the millenia he’d spent seducing beings, human and not. The pacing had exceeded frantic levels, and had been upgraded to frenzied and furious; as a result, the shabby rug underfoot became so threadbare that it singed and smoked if he stood in a single place longer than a microsecond. 

Nothing proved to be his undoing like the scent of Ciel that wafted from the other room; not the relentless siren call that was Phantomhive’s sighs, nor the harem of wispy beckoning tendrils that fondled him so brutally. And so, Sebastian found himself on hands and knees at the bathroom door, aching cock in hand, pumping it at a ruthless pace, growling at the back of his throat, chest rumbling as he took in the flavourful fragrance. He trembled as he breathed it in, hand moving slickly over the swollen flesh. _Disgusting and wrong_. He should have it buried in the agent’s throat instead, choking him with it until he was sated, snapping his hips forward and back with such ferociousness that the kiss of teeth against the sensitized skin would be an expected pleasantness. 

He swore in every language he knew, cursed every god and demon alike as he continued to fist himself at an inhuman speed, panting as he fucked into his own hand. His moans eventually turned into whines. _Pathetic demon_. Just a taste of Phantomhive’s soul. That’s all he needed. The boy would beg for him to take it once Sebastian was sheathed deep inside him, the length causing his partner’s belly to bulge attractively, its outline perfectly discernable down to the shape of his head as it pushed against his guts. Ciel would scream and it would be glorious. 

But the longer he tried, the more his frustration mounted; and when he snapped with a fierce feral cry, the demon in him took over. He lost himself to it willingly and became less corporeal. He would take the punishment from his master and enjoy it; consuming Phantomhive would be worth eternal suffering. His darkened, intangible devilish form pushed back against the treacherous scent, and nothing but the hint of a smoky aspect joined the steam on the other side of the door. 

The lights in the washroom flickered twice, then went out and he swooped upon Phantomhive’s perfect form, weaving through the mist, curling around him possessively. He blanketed the small body, every single inch, felt each dip and hollow of his lithe frame and as the agent’s breathing became infinitesimally more laboured, his own eased and evened out. Ciel tensed, called for his partner to be sure he wasn't playing around; he pulled open the shower curtain but of course saw not even a hint of movement in the darkened bathroom. The demon was still immaterial, a faint illusory presence against the boy; he cradled him from behind, tendrils caging him greedily, then pressed nonexistent lips to his neck and inhaled the sweet, calming scent. How had he been so deranged moments ago? So wild and carnal and animalistic? He’d not known hunger the way he did with Phantomhive, nor had he ever known such peace. With Ciel’s defenses down, Sebastian could detect it, saw what Mey-Rin had talked about. Became enamoured by it, a soul so uniquely pure that not even after all the death and evil he’d experienced as both doctor and agent, had it become the least bit corrupted. Ciel was a rarity. A delicacy of the most sublime kind. He would cultivate his trust, protect the soul within and stain it with only the purest sin. Before he even meant to, he pulled away, though the edges of the dark vapour were desperate in their wanting to cling to Ciel. Sebastian was loathe to leave him as well now; as he was sure was to be the case going forward, until he could keep him tucked away, a supernova trapped forever in a black hole at the demon’s core. The lights came on as he escaped through the vent only to make his way back into the other room to rid it of the evidence of his passion. 

A wave of relief washed over Ciel when the lights flickered back on. It wasn't fright that overcame him -- there was just something spooky about showering in the dark. There was no power outage, because the radio on the counter continued to play and the fan continued to suck up the heat and the steam from the shower, though rather poorly. He surmised that the lightbulb must've burnt out, and Ciel continued to wash the slime off of him mostly unperturbed, though he couldn't stop himself from shivering. 

Normally it was easier to believe that something wasn't right in the dark; it was easier to think there was more to what he was perceiving and experiencing. There was an unnatural layer of scum clinging to his skin that he couldn't wipe off; there were hundreds of pairs of dilated pupils watching him from the faucet and the mirror and the cracks in the baby blue tiles, but he thought nothing of it. Ciel hadn't been afraid of the dark since he was a child, not since he was forced to live in it for a nearly a month. It was a second home to him now, one that he didn't frequent often, but whenever he visited, he always felt like he fit right in among the bleak emptiness. 

Ciel finished up washing his hair and let himself indulge in a final warm rinse before turning off the stream and climbing out of the shower. Because he had forgotten to bring a fresh pair of clothes in with him, Ciel stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. "All yours," he said, nodding towards Michaelis, who was pacing back and forth beside the window. "Watch out, that light in there was acting kind of funny. It went out on me while I was showering. Hope you're not afraid of the dark."


	5. Je souhaite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this version of Chapter 5 is the second version we wrote. The first version totally got away from us and became this back-alley smutfest. If this is something you'd be interested in reading- let us know in the comments & we'll post it as an aside :)
> 
> As always, thanks so much for your continued support and readership <3

Three weeks, five inconsequential cases and one thousand, two hundred and fifty-one occasions where Sebastian denied himself a taste of Phantomhive later, the demon found himself taking the long walk down the ill-lit top floor corridor of his work building. Each deliberate footfall against the polished concrete floor echoed in the hall like a metronome counting down the seconds until the appointed hour at which he met with his master to discuss the torturously slow progress of their pact. At this point, Sebastian was just hoping the old bastard would die of natural causes so that he could find another master. And while he’d fantasized half a million ways to cause the insufferable man’s death, it would be a breach of the contract they’d made. 

He’d been maybe a little too eager at first to take on this particular challenge; after all, the payment was reasonable: a soul per case he solved, a bonus soul for every truth hidden from the human world. But in the last year, his master had found loophole after loophole to deny the demon his _just desserts_. And while Phantomhive had been alluring from the start, he’d only grown more precious and beguiling with every insult directed at his partner he’d uttered under his breath, with every brilliant deduction and by the unconscious will he possessed to remain pure among the filth with which he had to surround himself on a daily basis. Resisting the enigmatic agent would have still been difficult under the best of circumstances, but his present malnourished and frustrated state led him to believe that he was being riled purposely by his master as a means of negating their agreement. He didn’t care. The sonofabitch could keep his worthless, dim light as long as he promised him Ciel’s. 

As he came to the end of the hall, Sebastian took a breath he didn’t need and stood in front of the double mahogany doors, hand out, poised to knock. He waited only a moment before throwing caution to the wind and dramatically blowing open the doors with a powerful burst of his darkened aura. 

"No need for theatrics, Michaelis -- I've been expecting you. I knew it was only a matter of time before you came to see me..." Sebastian's master leaned back in his chair behind the only piece of furniture in the office, a large dark rosewood desk, completely bereft of any paperwork, office supplies, or knick-knacks. The only thing on its polished surface was a thin dusting of ashes, scattered here and there like gray snowflakes in early winter. 

There was the sound of a striking match and the man carefully raised the flame to his freshly packed tobacco pipe. Smoke curled around his face in thick white streams, and he stared pointedly at his demon through the haze as he puffed away to get the heat building. Once he was satisfied with the smoldering state of the Turkish blended tobacco, he took a long drag from the mouthpiece of the dragon pipe and exhaled an imposing plume in Sebastian’s direction. 

"So, is there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

“You know perfectly well why I’m here, _Master_ ,” Sebastian sneered as he approached the smoking man and gave a flourish of his hand to slam the doors shut behind him. A breeze materialized from nowhere and blew across the gaudy monstrosity of a desk to clear it of its pallid, little scraps. _Disgusting_ , the demon admonished internally; the charlatan took about the same measure of care to his personal effects as he did his soul, flouting both in trivial sin. It was no wonder his soul had the distinct aroma of putridity and the dullness of vice.

Sebastian took his place before the desk as was expected of him each time - feet set apart, hands held behind his back and without a hint of his devilish appearance. He spoke in a tone of malicious obedience: patronizing and condescending at once, though his master was likely too thick to realize it. “I am owed payment, Lau. I’ve put five cases to rest, three of which involved the supernatural. I planted evidence in the residence of that elderly man in Silver Bend, manipulated photographic proof for the case in Sioux Falls and tampered with the samples in Junction City. I might add that despite my fiendish abilities, it is becoming increasingly difficult to do your bidding with the partner you’ve paired me with. He misses _nothing_ and will soon come to suspect…”

"He will suspect nothing," Lau insisted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "That man would rather dissect his own mother than allow himself to admit that supernatural entities such as yourself exist. So long as you keep your head on straight and do not reveal your true nature, or the nature of your work to him, everything will be copacetic.”

Sebastian inclined his head as he regarded the man with disdain and consummate scorn. “If you say so, Lau. But I've noticed you've conveniently overlooked any talk of recompense. What reason do you have now?” He was before the man, hands fisted behind himself, and then he wasn’t. He moved unchallenged, unseen like a shadow among shadows, hushed like a whisper among the hum of the fluorescent lights. And quicker than what was natural, the sow of a man sitting upon his throne found himself craning his neck up to peer into the depthless crimson of Sebastian’s eyes. The demon’s claws tapped against the thin, sensitive flesh of the man’s throat, fingers wrapped so tightly around it that he felt the Adam’s apple bob with every swallow. “Or are you so eager to renege on this contract, _Master_? You’re straddling that line now, and I ran out of patience weeks ago. You’ll feed me, or I’ll make sure to leave a trail of corpses and have them tied to you. And if you so much as contemplate suicide, I’ll make it my new life’s mission to watch over you day and night to prevent it.” 

The man merely smiled. Sebastian had been in his service for many years, and he had never yet dared to lay a hand on him until today. It was frightening to the aging mortal, the realization of the sheer amount of power he was toying with, but he managed to hide his fear quite well behind his usual, casual indifference. No matter what the demon said, he was still bound to Lau, obligated to obey him as per their contract. At least for now. 

“I'm a simple man,” he wheezed with a smile. “I lead a humble life; you'd be bored out of your evil little mind spending all day and night watching me. Now release me," he choked out. "I am still your master, and I am giving you an order. Let me go." Once freed, Lau took another drag off of his pipe before continuing. 

Indeed, he was not eager to have his soul consumed at the end of their deal, but Lau could not let Sebastian know that he was desperately searching for a way out. It was a dangerous game he was playing, trying to pull one over on the devil… But the demon had been just as unfaithful in their contract as Lau had, and if he could catch him in the act, he just might be able to escape with his soul intact. “You will be fed... When the time is right,” he said. “You see, I require progress, Michaelis -- noticeable, substantiated headway. You may have done well with the cover ups in Silver Bend and Junction City, but you have produced nothing of worth. No culprit, no evidence, no information that I can use to aid me in my work. I do not consider those cases 'solved’.'" Another mouthful of smoke. "And those are the terms of our contract, are they not?" Lau rose from his seat to stand defiantly against his demon, though the creature's human form and presence still towered over him. "Bring me something, somebody, of use, and we will discuss a meal for you."

“Yes, _Master_ ,” Sebastian snarled, giving the man in question a patronizing bow as he glared at him with pure hatred from a heavy veil of midnight lashes. Smoky tendrils wrapped themselves covetously around his tall frame, lashing out violently as they twist and spun, sucking the air greedily into it and subduing Lau to a state of dizzied oblivion. He left him unconscious, head upon his imposing desk, in search of _something_ to assuage his deprived state.

***

By the time Lau awoke, Agent Michaelis had assigned himself another case and was busy making travel and lodging arrangements for Boston, Massachusetts. Twenty-four hours later, he and his alluring little partner were taking a seat at a pub in Faneuil Hall and pulling out nondescript manilla folders to peruse while they waited for their food.

“You won’t regret coming out for this one, Phantomhive,” Sebastian told his partner airily, as he handed him a series of photocopied newspaper clippings dating as far back as eighteenth century. “You get fantastic food, great historical sights, _my company_ and you might get a glimpse of Cassie or one of her relatives.” Ciel had barely spoken a word that wasn’t in some grouching, muttering tone since their departure, seeming incensed at having been taken away from what he called _real work_. Sebastian chose to ignore it of course, it had been years since an aquatic cryptid case had fallen into his lap and with the way he’d left Lau, he thought it better to be gone by the time he’d come to. 

“Sea serpents,” Ciel replied with a grim expression, thumbing through the headlines. “You brought me out here for the Loch Ness monster.” 

“Don't be absurd, Nessie lives in Scotland. Honestly, Phantomhive, I thought your deductive abilities would extend themselves to the decoding of geographical nomenclature,” Sebastian teased, clearing a spot for the bowl of lobster bisque being deposited before him. It looked nearly as bad as it smelled. He hated having to eat in front of Ciel to keep up appearances, but after having made excuses for his lack of appetite for the first two weeks they’d been partnered up, Ciel had become increasingly generous (and slightly annoying) with possible diagnoses and unwanted advice. 

Ciel scowled, but politely refrained from speaking until after he had been served his garlic shrimp linguine. “No sea creature claim has ever been substantiated,” he said after taking a sip of his club soda and rum. “If it's not pure folklore or myth, or a hoax, it's something else. I mean, the senses deceive us all the time, Michaelis; we have evolved to identify objects and patterns, and we make inferences when the pattern is incomplete or there are parts hidden from us. In between the constant motion of the ocean and it's waves, the light, other meteorological phenomena, it's easy to misinterpret some inanimate object as a sea monster, especially in a culture prone to confabulation and exaggeration.” 

As Ciel picked up his fork, his mouth watering and ready to tuck in to his meal, he noticed Sebastian looking at him with a mix of skepticism and amusement. The look irked him, and after several bites, Ciel felt compelled to hammer his point home, though he knew nothing was likely to get through his partner’s thick skull. “You know, the Gloucester Sea Monster was, in all likelihood, nothing more than a whale who had gotten its tail fin caught in one of those fishing nets that uses those wooden casks used to keep it afloat, and was just trailing the entire length behind it through the Gulf of Maine. Over a hundred years of legend reduced to nothing more than a trick of the senses.”

Maybe _your_ senses deceive you Phantomhive, Sebastian thought, eyeing the naive agent over the rim of his tankard as he brought it to his lips. He wasn't fully able to control his disbelief as he listened to Ciel’s multiple excuses and he was sure his partner saw his eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline. “Fine,” he said lowering his beer, wiping his mouth with his napkin and throwing it over his half-eaten soup, “then why don't you explain to me how the missing workers of the Ted Williams Tunnel washed ashore from the Boston Main Channel, half masticated.” 

Ciel had seen the photos -- limbs missing, abdomens eviscerated, heads crushed -- but he was hesitant to make any claims about the nature of the wounds himself, having not examined them up close, so he shrugged and took another few bites. “It's a construction sight,” he ventured. “There's any number of moving parts and pieces of machinery they could have fallen victim to, and even more marine organisms that would love to feast on them once they landed in the water -- none of which I believe to be monsters.” It was a reasonable guess, though how the men made it from the construction sight into the open ocean remained a mystery, one that Ciel chose not to address lest he incur the pseudo-analytical wrath of his partner. 

“How can you be so flippant in using the word _monster_ given our line of work, Agent? Surely you’ve encountered your fair share that did not fall under the realm of the supernatural?” Sebastian asked cocking a thin, shapely brow as he gathered up the case files and stuck them into his briefcase. These humans, they were so uncompromising. Either they believed in a benevolent father that lived in the clouds, with no evidence of him whatsoever and killed in _His_ name, or they harboured an almost nihilistic attitude in regards to the unknown, whereby a lack of the evidence that was only available at that given time, rendered something non-existent. How utterly drole they were! He concealed an exasperated sigh and cleared his throat before addressing Ciel once more, “If you’re done eating, I suggest we move to the bar and we can decide where we want to start tomorrow.”

***

What started as dinner and discussion over their most recent case led to drinks and divulgence; they abandoned their table by the window and moved straight to the bar. Ciel drank too much gin and decided to tell Sebastian what he really thought of him during their first encounter.

"I freaking hated you," he laughed at Sebastian’s expense. "From the moment you opened your mouth. Didn't care how smart you were, or how good-looking; you were annoying as all hell." The rest of his gin and tonic he finished in one gulp, chewing on the red and white striped straw as he looked his partner up and down. "And you still kind of are." 

“What’s that? Smart and good-looking?” Sebastian asked, cocking his head and giving Ciel a roguish grin. He moved the small agent’s glass away from him, sliding it towards the bartender and giving him a knowing look. Of course he’d rather see his partner shitfaced and perhaps, by some miracle, he’d loosen up a little; but he also knew Ciel would be quite resentful if the situation escalated to the point that the demon would like it to.

Ciel rolled his eyes as he raised his hand to signal to the bartender, _Another_. "Yes. You're already aware of it, so don't play dumb. I don't want to say it again." The server came by in a moment to replace Ciel’s empty glass, and he took a more timid sip before clearing his throat. “But I meant annoying. You're still hard to work with sometimes, you know.”

“Enlighten me, Phantomhive. What makes me so _hard_ to work with?” he leaned in a little closer, licking his lips before reaching behind the agent for another drink that had been on a server’s platter and obviously meant for someone else. _As if he cared_. It would take more alcohol than the bar currently had on reserve for him to even begin to feel the effects of the drug. And while it wouldn’t get him buzzed, it definitely acted the part of an aphrodisiac. He had his own answers if the beautiful, blue-eyed man couldn’t come up with anything tangible. Everything about Ciel got him worked up, had him stiff, swollen and aching ninety-nine percent of the time they were in one another’s company; from the way his clothes fit to accentuate his slim, but muscled physique, to how he bit his bottom lip when he focused on something particularly challenging, the way he panted when they’d have to run a fair distance or and even how he wrapped his lips around the straw just now. Did the agent have any idea how positively, infuriatingly alluring he was? 

“This," Ciel answered in a whisper, mirroring Sebastian's motion and licking his lips as he leaned forward, reducing the space left between them by half, "This right here." Then he barked out another crude laugh and pulled back. "You're so fucking cocky. This whole overly-charming, wannabe bad boy, devil may care act... God, it makes me want to..." Ciel impulsively reached out and balled his fist into the front of Sebastian's shirt, almost like he was angry, like he was about to haul off and hit him, but there was no malice in his voice when he spoke. He sighed. "I don't know. Kick your ass, I guess." 

“So, if not this _act_ , what is it that draws you to someone, hm Ciel?” the demon responded huskily, his tongue catching on the last syllable and doing the pretty name justice for once. What would it sound like growled and moaned into the crook of Phantomhive’s neck as he sucked the skin between his teeth and bruised it? Or screamed as he neared his peak, competing against the cacophony of a headboard pounding relentlessly into the cheap plaster of their hotel room wall and neighbours wailing in the adjoining room complaining about the boy’s begging of _harder_ and _more_? Sebastian swallowed a shuddering sigh and his large, gloved hand covered his partner’s fisted one and gave it a slight squeeze. “Would it make you feel better to kick my ass? Be honest. If I were to _let_ you hurt me, could we start anew?” 

"I don't know," Ciel muttered, more to himself than to Sebastian; he did not know what it was that made him interested in another person in that way. He didn't know if he had ever been truly attracted to anyone beyond a disinterested carnal desire; he didn't know if such a thing existed for him. 

Despite dedicating his whole life to other people, to being in a position to care for, help, and protect them, Ciel Phantomhive was not one for any sort of intimacy or emotional investment and attachment. He worked best when he was distant, unconcerned, unconnected. But what sort of life was that? One-night stands and superficial relationships, manipulation and misplaced trust; lonely nights, melancholic daydreams, unsatisfying conquests in life and love. Before he could descend too far down the oubliette of his memories, he felt his partner's hand tighten around his own, and he tilted his head to meet his gaze. 

"Yeah," Ciel breathed, his fist wrenching the material of Michaelis’s shirt and pulling him closer, "I want to hurt you."

Sebastian hadn’t expected anything to come of it, but when he found himself practically sharing an evocative breath with his partner, it took everything he had to school his expression into one that lacked a smug eagerness. His free hand came up, motioning for the bartender to bring them their bill, though his eyes never left Phantomhive. Ciel’s icy, piercing stare had him glued to the spot, and for once in his long life, he felt like prey -- and liked it. “Very well. Let me settle our tab and I’ll meet you outside,” he whispered, his tone one of suggested submission. He wasn’t used to it; normally people wanted to be possessed, to lose control. He should have known Ciel was different and that very knowledge had him desperate for it -- to see Phantomhive lose himself for one moment, even at the expense of the demon’s own pride and aesthetic. He would absorb those blows like caresses from a lover and lick the blood from his wounds as though they were evidence of an impassioned tryst instead. 

There was a moment where Ciel didn't move, didn't let go of Sebastian, didn't look away. He held his stare, trying to discern what it was that this man wanted from him. The offer was strange, but in his current state, Ciel wasn't likely to turn down an opportunity to see that pretty face a little bruised and bloodied. 

"Okay," he agreed, releasing his grip on his partner. Swallowing down his freshened drink in two long swigs, Ciel slid off his barstool and made his way carefully towards the exit, suddenly aware of his level of intoxication. He only hoped he would be able to stand long enough to plant one right between Sebastian's beautiful brown eyes. To keep himself upright, he leaned against the exterior of the building, feet spread, hands in his pockets. Several university students strolled by, and Ciel managed to charm one out of a cigarette and a light, and he stood there and smoked, his eyes shut, head tilted back, trying to clear his mind with the haze of the tobacco as he waited for his partner to come outside. 

As restless as he was, as much as he _craved_ the sensation of Ciel’s body making contact with his own in _any_ way, Sebastian lingered in the pub some minutes to allow the other agent some time to compose himself. If he reconsidered his actions in their time apart, so be it; obviously the demon wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d changed course in his pursuit of Phantomhive. He wanted his trust and if that meant ignoring the incessant screeching and railing of his instincts, what choice did he have?

He’d heard the exchange between his partner and some children and felt a violent bout of possessive jealousy. He was envious of the charm with which Ciel addressed them; how long before Phantomhive would talk to _him_ in this manner and mean it? It was clear that the other agent was hiding something, and it was likely something big if it refused to allow him any show of vulnerability, in any aspect on his life. The challenge of ferreting such a secret was almost as enticing as the challenge of claiming the smaller man. 

After he felt enough time had passed, he strode outside and upon seeing Phantomhive leaning disheveled and brooding against the wall, he smiled. Ciel _almost_ looked dangerous. Not in the conventional sense, but in the way beautiful things are often bad for you. He was the human embodiment of veratrum, stunning, yet unassuming, but when used against you, capable of causing madness and stopping the heart. And Sebastian couldn’t be more smitten. 

He sidled next to Phantomhive, leaning attractively against the pub wall and casually rolled up his shirtsleeves and loosened his tie. “I have a reputation to uphold, Ciel; if you wouldn’t mind not causing a scene, I suggest we move into the alley,” he told the boy evenly. It was so difficult to keep the purring at bay, to conceal the eager lilt from his tone. 

"I thought you had changed your mind and snuck out the back," Ciel mused. Though he couldn't really picture Michaelis stepping down from a challenge, it wouldn't have surprised him had the senior agent slipped out through the kitchen and left him waiting in the alley like the drunken fool he was. He was thankful he hadn't. Having Sebastian beside him made him feel grounded somehow. With Sebastian there, he wasn't some lightweight loser drunk by himself before 9 pm on a Tuesday night. He wasn't alone in an unfamiliar city, just one in one hundred thousand; he didn't feel as infinitesimal as he really was. Though Michaelis didn't know it, and Ciel would prefer he never found out, Ciel was grateful for his partner. 

"Let me finish this first," he said with a private smile, hidden behind the hand that held his pilfered cigarette. "Then we can go. You're not in a hurry, are you?"

“Of course not,” Sebastian shrugged, trying his best to be nonchalant about the whole thing. The truth was he was anything but patient. He wanted to filch the remaining bit of tobacco from between his partner’s fingers and suck deeply on the filter himself until it flickered out, reveling in the taste of Ciel’s lips on the butt. He’d cup Ciel’s face with one hand, his thumb brushing over his soft, plump bottom lip, while they other snaked around to the back of his head, fisting the hair there to keep him still. He’d draw him closer, lean in and press his mouth to the other agent’s, forcing his lips apart and feed him the heady smoke combined with the demon’s own seductive flavour. Instead, he simply looked ahead, not trusting himself to behave if he lost himself to the sight of Ciel hollowing his cheeks with every pull of the drug. “Take your time. Getting my ass kicked now or in five minutes won’t make a difference.” 

It was then that Ciel reached out and offered the cigarette between his fingers to Sebastian. 

Sebastian noticed the offering from his periphery and refrained from making any lewd comments, or puffing his cheeks out exasperatedly and asking if Ciel was actually _trying_ to kill him. Tonight was about earning Ciel’s confidences; so he gratefully accepted the cigarette, took a quick drag, and held it in his mouth along with the faint taste of the gin’s juniper berries and something that belonged uniquely to Phantomhive. He muttered a thanks, though his tone bordered on guttural and passed it back. 

Ciel smoked the rest of it in silence, and when he was done, flicked the smoldering end into the uneven cobbled streets. Sighing out his final breath of smoke, Ciel turned to Sebastian and tugged once on his loosened tie. “Alright, Michaelis -- let's get this show on the road. Lead the way.”

Sebastian gave him a curt nod and walked ahead a few paces, his long legs easily making up two of Ciel’s shorter strides. While there was very little his partner could do to _hurt_ him, he still wasn’t keen on getting jumped from behind. He made it to the end of the blind alley and turned abruptly on Ciel, having allowed himself to be cornered so that the other agent felt more at ease at taking on a man significantly larger than himself. “Okay, Ciel, do your worst; but when you’re done with me, we’re resetting, understood?” 

"My worst?" Ciel smiled innocently, his hands already extending towards Sebastian. When they connected with him, it wasn't in the form of a fist or a jab; it was with soft, tender fingers, trailing gently down his front. Ciel wrapped the expensive tie at Sebastian's neck around his hand and gave it another playful tug, urging him to lean down to meet him, as if he had a secret to tell. His other hand crept up and looped around Sebastian's neck, thumb rubbing along a notch in his spine. Ciel's pouty lips opened, and he licked them once seductively, eyeing Sebastian. And then he tucked his chin, tightened his grip, and pulled Sebastian's face down firmly and swiftly into the oncoming force of his headbutt. 

“Ff-ffuck!” Sebastian swore, both hands flying to his face reflexively. He was _wrong_ , Ciel _could_ physically hurt him. _Did_ physically hurt him. _Stupid, weak, human body_. And it wasn't like he could just heal himself in front of Phantomhive. He was resentful at its inefficiency when felt the tears he could not prevent race down his face and saw the evidence of it, along with the blood pouring from his nose spatter the dark cobbled alleyway floor. 

A million words came to mind, a thousand thousand different offensive names, insults that would leave the younger of the two stunned if he heard them, but he pressed his lips together. It was a dirty trick, and he'd been distracted by the tongue, and the pout and the feel of Ciel’s hands upon him. But in this duplicitous act, Phantomhive had earned his respect.

Sebastian tore away a strip of his own shirt with more force than necessary, sending the buttons bouncing and ricocheting along the stone underfoot, leaving his torso exposed as he dabbed the sodden mess on his face. “Well played,” he offered, extending his hand towards his partner, though his own stance became somewhat more defensive, just in case.

There were smudges of blood on Sebastian's outstretched hand, and his nose continued to dribble more crimson liquid down his face as Ciel stood there, looking at him. His eyes were red, reflexively watering and releasing salty tears to mingle with the blood on his chin. A little had found its way into the corners of his mouth, staining his pearlescent teeth pink. Some had made its way down his neck to his exposed chest, sliding over his collarbones and down towards his nipple. It was ugly, and raw and sad and real. Completely unbefitting for Sebastian. 

Ciel liked it. Probably more than he should. 

"I'm not done with you, Michaelis."

It crossed Sebastian’s mind to simply have the evidence of Ciel’s victory vanish from his face, his nose perfectly positioned as if no damage had ever been done. He became momentarily enamoured with the thought of seeing his partner’s eyes widen in disbelief and that pretty little mouth of his gaping as if waiting to be filled, but he couldn’t risk it, not after what Lau had said. Besides, there was no guarantee that Phantomhive would recall the events of the night with any kind of clarity, given the amount of alcohol he’d imbued. That being said, he wouldn’t take it completely easy on the agent now; he wouldn’t break any bones, but there should be some evidence of his _abilities_ after having been with the FBI for some time. 

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth came up in a smirk and he lowered his center of gravity, setting his feet only slightly wider than his hips and raising his rear heel. His bare stomach tensed in anticipation of a blow, accentuating the dips and bulges of the muscles there. His elbows came up and he beckoned the intoxicated agent closer with his lead arm, curling his fingers twice, “Bring it, Phantomhive.” 

Ciel smiled, realizing that if he fought Sebastian head-on, he'd surely lose. Though it might be worth it. He knew the man was probably only joking, he wouldn't leave him broken and unconscious, bleeding on the grimy stone streets of Boston, but he wanted it. It would make him feel alive, even if he felt like he was dying. Looking up at Sebastian with his smashed up face, Ciel wanted that to be him. 

"You first," he said, relaxing. One good punch. That's all he needed. Just something that he could feel throughout his whole body. A wake-up call. He knew Sebastian could give it to him. A warm bitter tear welled behind his eye but he refused to let it fall. "Come on. Give me your best shot." 

 

Sebastian faltered only a split second when he felt the desperation rolling off Ciel in waves like lethal tsunamis, cresting and crashing over him, engulfing him in whatever turmoil was at his core in a bittersweet vortex of regret and anguish. When he _did_ move, the demon was on him the moment the younger agent closed his eyes to blink, so that by the time they were open again, Sebastian had flipped their positions and was pinning Phantomhive against the wall between the dumpster and the fire escape. His large hand had cradled Ciel’s head before it could hit the weathered sand-coloured brick; at the very least, the impact would have concussed him. His other hand was at Phantomhive’s chest, long fingers splayed across his solar plexus, their tips tensing and relaxing where he felt the echo of his partner’s heart beat a mad tattoo under the layers of fabric and skin and muscle. As it was, his battered face was inches from Ciel’s and he could see the slight trembling of his lips; he swallowed thickly, tearing his gaze away from them, not trusting that his own wouldn’t press against them to quell Ciel’s dismay. Instead, he sought asylum from temptation in the crook of Phantomhive’s exposed neck. “I won’t do that to you,” Sebastian told him, turning his head towards the young man and nosing the back of Ciel’s ear, bathing him in warm breath, “I know what you want, and I won’t do it. There are better ways for you to feel alive and they don’t _have_ to hurt.”

The sudden shift caught Ciel off guard; he gasped the slightest bit when he felt the solid brick at his back, Sebastian's hands all over him. Blood was pounding in his ears, and Ciel was aware that he was drunk, but he couldn't be that bad... He didn't know how they got there, how he let Sebastian handle him in this way, how he let himself be pinned so easily. The warm breath pouring down Ciel's neck made him shiver; he could feel the tacky blood on his partner's face start sticking to his skin. 

The blood on Sebastian's chest looked black in the dim light. Ciel reached out to touch it, covetous of the life force splattered on his smooth, pale skin in an abstract masterpiece, and ended up trailing his fingers across Sebastian's exposed chest, sliding lower and lower, painting his stomach with his blood like a living canvas until they landed and hooked onto Sebastian's belt. They didn't do anything, they just held there, like he was a port in a storm. Ciel shuddered again, trembling against his partner as he spoke into his ear. 

"But..." he said quietly, directing his words towards the ground because he couldn't face Sebastian with his question, "what if I want it to hurt?"

It was Hell to deny him, especially when Sebastian could smell the submission, but its consent was nary an echo. When he finally took Phantomhive, when Ciel submitted to him, he wanted the agent wrecked and bruised _as a result_ of their union, not as as a lead-up. “We’ll wait until you sober up, and then, if you still want to, we’ll head to the nearest boxing club," _or the nearest hotel_ , he thought wickedly.

"Whatever,” Ciel said, twisting out of Sebastian's grasp. Though now embarrassed by his behavior, Ciel was thankful that Sebastian had refused to give in to him. He wasn't in his right mind, and it galled him that he needed someone else to make the smart decision for him now, but he knew it was for the best. “You look like shit," he said by way of thanks. Sebastian's nose was swollen, speckled with the drying blood; his shirt ripped, exposing his chest, mottled with Ciel’s dark red fingerprints; still he looked beautiful. Hoping his staring hadn't been obvious, Ciel brushed past Sebastian and headed for the mouth of the alley, ready to leave the dark hollow and return to the bright bustle of the marketplace and the inconsequential flow of students and shoppers around them -- anything to feel normal after their terse encounter. "Come on, clean yourself up and let's get out of here," he said over his shoulder, leaning against the wall to steady himself as he wavered ever so slightly on his suddenly weak legs. 

Sebastian gave a curt nod in Ciel’s direction to acknowledge his _request_ , as he watched him stumbling back towards more civilized company. Such a proud little thing, trying to support himself, too independent to ask for help when he’d appeared too vulnerable already. It made him all the more desirable. Only Ciel could have denied the devil in such a state. _So pure. So enticing._ And as Sebastian gazed at him longingly, he realized that the hollow at his core was never likely to be filled except by one means. This time he shuddered at the thought of it, and cursed himself for any tangible attachment that he’d allowed himself to feel towards the mortal.

Ciel was alluring, this was an incontrovertible truth; even as blind as she was, Mey-Rin saw that. But it was his flaws that made Ciel precious. He was what the Japanese classified as _wabi-sabi_ ; imperfect, incomplete and impermanent. That he was broken was no secret, only the way by which he came to be remained a mystery to the demon. Ciel had not allowed that heavy burden to keep him stagnant; trying to fill the emptiness with accomplishments, accolades, respect and now his incessant need for scientific evidence. And yet, as he tried to keep upright by hanging on to the bricks in the wall, looking for all the world as though he’d like to fall over, Sebastian doubted Ciel would ever be satisfied with the truth, no matter what shape it took. For all his looking, for all his determination to _ignore_ what was right in front of him, his quest would be in vain, as Ciel would not last forever. Perhaps that was the appeal to devouring the human soul, its light was so fleeting and transitory, and in that respect only, Ciel’s was no different. 

Fearful that the small agent would pass out any minute by the way he relied on the side of the building to support his weight, Sebastian strode purposefully towards him, wound his arm behind Ciel’s waist and threw his partner’s arm around his shoulder. “Come on,” he sighed over Phantomhive’s weak protests and insistence that he was perfectly able to walk on his own, “let me take you back to your room, you look as though you could use the sleep.”


	6. Beyond the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took us a little while, we got a distracted with prompts and our sugardaddy!Ciel /sugarbaby!Sebastian fic. If you haven't checked it out yet, you can do so [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086953/chapters/32456082). 
> 
> We hope you enjoy this chapter!

They had been called out to the Boston Harbour two hours ahead of when they had originally set to visit the scene where most of the victims had washed ashore. Sebastian being what he was, had little to no need for sleep and as such, felt indifferent to the six a.m. impromptu wakeup call. Ciel on the other hand was a whole different story; not only had the four hours of sleep been insufficient in providing the rest Phantomhive needed, but the gin he’d ingested prior to sleeping still lingered in his system in a most unpleasant way. As a result, Sebastian picked up a greasy takeout breakfast for his partner on their way to the harbour to help alleviate Phantomhive’s discomfort, along with some aspirin and a generic electrolyte drink. These frail human bodies were often more work than they were worth, and after a mere evening of partaking in a weak substance such as alcohol, it was a wonder they functioned at all.

By the time they reached their destination and got out of the rental car, there was a fine mist in the air that carried the stench of the not-so-far-off sewage facility and the hint of early decay. Sebastian’s nose wrinkled in distaste, though he doubted anyone else could pick it up, certainly Ciel couldn’t with his nose never a far distance from his extra-large styrofoam coffee cup. 

“How’s your stomach, Phantomhive?” he asked as they approached the back of an ambulance onto which a gurney with a body bag was being loaded. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed to scan the surrounding area, passing over yellow tape, a half dozen BPD officers, some forensic workers and finally landing on a young man with an emergency blanket around his shoulders being attended to by grizzened, tired-looking paramedic. “Good enough to check out the body bag, or do you want to talk to the victim still capable of speech?” 

Ciel had not been able to finish the breakfast sandwich that Michaelis had been kind enough to pick up for him, but the gas station coffee and crisp breeze from the open car window had helped to clear his head on their drive over. Still, he did not know if he had the energy or the attention span to speak to the witness right now, especially if he was in a badly stunned and discombobulated state after the traumatic event. 

“I'll take the body bag,” he informed his partner. “You talk to the witness, see what you can find out.” Bits and pieces of last night hung in his mind, rotating and buzzing and making it hard for him to get a clear picture. Sebastian’s nose was crooked and swollen, heavy bags beneath his eyes darkening his whole appearance, and Ciel was vaguely aware that he was the one responsible for his sorry state. He should apologize at some point… 

But this was neither the time nor the place. Ciel set aside his empty coffee cup and withdrew his credentials, presenting them to the paramedics climbing out of the back of the ambulance. They were cooperative enough, informing him of what little they knew as Ciel hopped up into the back of the vehicle and reached for the zipper of the bulky black bag. 

Sebastian watched as Ciel disappeared into the ambulance; he was rather impressed and surprised by his partner’s choice, confirming once again that Phantomhive was made of tougher stuff than he’d initially assumed. And while he was tempted to follow to keep an eye on him, less to make sure that he would be alright and more because he quite enjoyed the sight of Phantomhive in any capacity, it was probably wiser to simply get this interview done, so that they could get back to headquarters. Mey-Rin had paged him six times in the last hour and he was curious as to what she had dreamed last night that would have her so worked up. It was possible that the first victim of the new _Lucky Thirteen_ might have turned up; otherwise, she might have concocted another batch of her “fake soul serum”, which would come in handy given what had transpired last evening with Ciel. The blunt, swollen ache at the center of his face was a never-ceasing annoyance, given he was able to do away with it should he be so inclined, but the need to _maintain appearances_ (and perhaps win over a bit of sympathy) was more pressing at the moment. 

He turned his attention to the witness, taking in his appearance and did a double-take to make sure his partner was indeed already set to work at examining a corpse. Lawrence Bluewer, whose name he could make out on the medic’s chart, was not likely out of secondary school yet, but with his blue-grey wet-matted hair, he bore a striking resemblance to a younger Phantomhive, especially with his shoulders slumped and head in his hands so that his facial features were well concealed. When he was instructed to sit up by the attendant, the young man put his spectacles on, but it could not hide his red-rimmed eyes or the abject remorse and helplessness that kept them wet. 

Once the examination was done, Sebastian stopped the medic long enough to make it look as though they were discussing his findings then approached the crestfallen youth, simultaneously offering him his untouched coffee and flashing his badge. “My name is Agent Michaelis, do you mind if I ask you some questions, Mister Bluewer?” 

The young man tightened his grip on the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, ignoring the agent’s offer of his drink. He mumbled something under his breath that any normal human would have been incapable of discerning. Sebastian, however, was not normal; he wasn't even human. 

“I couldn't do anything,” he muttered sadly. “This is all my fault…” After several harsh sniffles, a cough to keep the tears at bay, Lawrence finally looked up and met Sebastian’s inquisitive gaze. “Fine,” he relented, “I doubt you'll believe me, but ask away.”

How tiresome it was to take part in the human charade of giving a shit. Sebastian repressed the urge to roll his eyes at the overly dramatic youth seated before him, and to remind him that even if he _did_ kill whomever was in the body bag his partner was examining, that the human race had done much worse as a whole, and on a much grander scale. Sympathy wasn’t exactly something that came natural to a demon and he was glad that his chosen profession was one that demanded a certain amount of detached coolness. He set the rejected drink upon some nearby stacked boxes and took out his pen and pad prop to record the details given by the grieving, guilt-ridden witness, _in case he forgot them_. “Go on, you’ll find I’m quite open minded,” he said evenly, flipping to a blank page and scratching the back of his head with the pen, “why don’t you tell me about the individual in the ambulance and what brought you out here last night.” 

“It's my… friend, Herman,” he began, somewhat reluctantly, perhaps still hesitant to share his (understandably) unbelievable story with this random, pretentious FBI agent. “And last night we snuck out and took his dad’s boat out to Spectacle Island. He wanted to show me the skyline of the city, like all lit up against the night sky; he’d been out there before, and he said it was really beautiful…”

“Alright kid; so far it’s not _that_ unbelievable…” Sebastian offered encouragingly. Bluewer had effectively described every teen drama that had played on television in the past forty years. _Skylines_ , he scoffed to himself. What the hell was he missing? He could understand going to see a sunset to create a mood… or going stargazing even… But how did one make the leap from looking at concrete lit up artificially to _”hey, do you feel like fucking now?”_ It just seemed so improbable that it was laughable. “Go on... “ 

The young man's eyes narrowed behind his spectacles and he squinted up at the agent, his looming figure outlined by the morning sun behind him, still deciding whether or not he should confide in him. After a moment, he realized that there was no use in hiding anything; he would surely be asked for his story again and again, and no matter how many times he told it, the truth of what happened, what he saw and experienced, was not going to change. Might as well say it now, at least so he could hear how ridiculous it was. 

“It's supposed to be closed to the public right now,” he explained, “since they're dumping the dirt from the tunnel there and laying clay and all... And we were just... walking around, kind of up from the bank, by the construction stuff. Greenhill said something -- I remember I laughed. I'm carrying this little flashlight so I can see... I turn and I try to shine the light at him and he's not there, he's not next to me anymore. For a second, I have no idea where he is. Like he disappeared. 

“But then I hear him start screaming,” Lawrence swallowed, and an involuntary shiver shook his thin frame as the memory of his friend's cries and screeches came rushing back. “I look down, and I see him in the dirt, getting dragged away by this... This thing. He's clawing, scrambling at the ground, and I'm just watching him try to hold on to something and this... monster, I don't even know what to call it, is dragging him away, down the bank. I start screaming and crying and I don't know what to do... and Herman is yelling at me. Telling me to run. I don't even know what to do,” he repeated, becoming more frantic by the second, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists around the gray woolen blanket over his shoulders and recounted his tale. 

“There's this pipe on the ground, a piece of rebar or something, and Herman is so strong, and brave -- he just grabs it, and even as he's being pulled away, he starts hitting this thing over the head, fighting it off, even as it tries taking him down towards the water. I can see all this blood in the dirt and when it finally lets him go and I get to him, Herman can barely keep his eyes open. I'm trying to talk to him but I'm so scared and he tries to answer but there's only blood coming out of his mouth. I couldn't do anything,” Lawrence said, his voice finally cracking and fresh tears forming in the corners of his eyes, spilling over and rolling down his sallow, exhausted cheeks. “I wasn't strong enough to carry him to the boat. I don't even know how to drive a boat... I just sat there with him. I had to wait until somebody came by. I must've been there for hours…”

Overwhelming guilt made him bury his face in his hands, hiding his shame from Agent Michaelis and from the meandering paramedics and the detectives waiting nearby, ready to pounce and ask him their own questions, get their own stories, draw their own conclusions. 

“I felt his body go cold,” he sniffled quietly. “And he was dead by the time anyone showed up.”

“You stayed on the island’s shore with this _boy_?” Sebastian asked incredulously, feigning taking notes as the young man babbled on about the attack. “Even after you saw a _monster_ trying to drag this Herman into the water? You weren't afraid it would come back? This _friend_ of yours must have meant quite a lot to you if you risked your own life waiting for help…” 

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" the traumatized youth suddenly snapped. How dare this man suggest he just leave Herman behind to protect himself. He had no idea what their relationship was like -- Lawrence couldn't do that to him. "I couldn't get off the island. And I couldn't just leave him there. I stayed with him until the end. I was up the whole night, terrified it would come back for us. I barely closed my eyes. It must have been satisfied with what it got, because I never saw it again," he trailed off, gritting his words out between his clenched teeth. 

Sebastian clicked his tongue at the accosted tone Bluewer had used, but quickly composed himself, taking on a professional air again as he continued to question the young man, “Tell me, Lawrence, did your monster look like a beautiful woman with too many teeth, maybe somewhat birdlike? Do you remember any chiming or singing sounds when you arrived on Spectacle Island?”

While it was odd for a Siren to be this far north in the ocean, it wasn’t the first time Sebastian had heard of such an occurrence, especially not since the population spike had driven them out of warmer waters. However, they usually lured their victims out to sea before consuming them; this one was likely starving, and the boys were certainly more than friends -- the demon could smell the deceased’s lingering caresses of fingers and tongue upon the bespectacled boy’s skin. The stain of their pheromones, still residual on Lawrence’s pants and shirt, would be potent enough for most any supernatural creature to pick up. An open and shut case as far as Sebastian was concerned. Now how to cover it up to his Master’s satisfaction? 

"What? No, I didn't hear anything like that,” Lawrence shook his head. “And it didn't look anything like a person, or a bird. It was like... I don't even know. It had a huge, pointy head, and all these teeth, with scaly-looking skin. It had to be twice the size of Herman. It crawled around on the ground, real low. It did make this weird growling noise -- actually, more like a screech. It rang in my ears for almost an hour."

Sebastian turned away from the young man, pretending to look for his partner, just so he could let his eyes roll to the back of his head, blow out the accumulated air in his cheeks and calm himself for a moment. _A fucking lizard? I came out here for a fucking lizard?_ , he wanted to ask, but didn’t; he just wanted the brat to shut up, to stop sniveling and offer him information he could _actually_ use. _Shit. Ciel wouldn’t let him live this down -- dragging him to Boston for a goddamn lizard. He could have used this time to call Mey-Rin instead._

Just as he was about turn to face the aggrieved once again, he saw his partner backing out of the ambulance. He cocked his head to the side, smirking appreciatively at the view; despite his long jacket and the layers he wore, Phantomhive’s shape was unmistakable, or maybe he had simply memorized every curve and sharp angle of his body from when he’d watched him shower. He heard a sniffling behind him and nearly growled as it yanked him out of his reverie. “Phantomhive!” Sebastian called, waving his hand to make sure Ciel knew where he was. He watched as the agent stored some samples in their car then strode over, looking surprisingly better, and definitely more awake after having examined a masticated corpse. 

Exchanging a brisk nod with his partner, Ciel stepped up beside Sebastian, taking a moment to examine the subject of his interview. The young man was hunched over, head in his hands, a slight shiver still racking his lean frame. In the ambulance, Ciel had found a chart with a few scribbled notes on it regarding Lawrence’s initial examination. While there was nothing of concern written on page, Ciel was reluctant to trust the paramedics on staff with such a _unique_ case, especially after seeing the state of Herman Greenhill’s body. He stooped down on one knee to put himself eye level with him. 

“Excuse me, Lawrence?” Ciel spoke with a voice of soft authority, caring but not condescending as he introduced himself as Michaelis’ partner, _Special Agent Ciel Phantomhive_. It was his doctor voice. “How are you feeling? I know the paramedics already examined you, but would you mind if I checked you out real quick?” 

The boy shot a glance up to Sebastian before addressing Ciel. “Sure, whatever,” he mumbled. “I just want to go home…”

“We will do our best to get you cleaned up and on your way as quickly as possible,” Ciel assured him. “You have to understand the strange nature of your experience; we just want to make sure we have all the facts and that you're safe and healthy before we formally begin our investigation.”

Lawrence grumbled that there was nothing to investigate, no one they could arrest or convict for Herman’s death. As Ciel wrapped his experienced fingers around his wrist to take his pulse, Lawrence insisted, with a bit more force, that a monster was responsible for this. 

“Tell me about the monster, Lawrence. I'd like to know what you saw,” Ciel urged, not exactly trusting Michaelis to recount it to him later without some sort of embellishment or anecdotal tale of a siren or sandwalker clouding his objectivity. Tapping and probing the young man’s extremities for any signs of damage or pain, Ciel listened attentively as he described the creature in question -- big and scaly with teeth to spare, crawling around on the ground, pushing itself back towards the water with Herman’s leg in its nasty mouth.

At Ciel’s insistence, Lawrence was shlepped into a seperate ambulance than that of the body bag and sent to the hospital, where, much to his displeasure, he would have to spend the day under observation. Sebastian was brooding when his partner finally turned his attention to him again and when Ciel gave him a _what’s-your-problem_ look, he took him by the arm and led him towards their car. “You know I could have easily filled you in on the details, Phantomhive. Why waste our time like that?” 

“After looking at the dead boy’s body, I was a little concerned about Lawrence too… I wanted to examine him, and it's easier to look him over if he's more focused on talking about this _monster_ than paying attention to where I'm looking,” Ciel explained as he climbed into the passenger seat of the car, glancing quickly over his shoulder to check on the samples stowed on the floor of the backseat. “This is going to sound crazy, Michaelis,” he said a bit reluctantly, “but I kind of want to believe him.” 

Sebastian had thrown his arm over his partner’s seat and was looking back to reverse the car when Phanthomhive had aired his desire. The breaks were slammed, sending the passenger lurching forward into his seatbelt and filling the car with colourful language the likes Sebastian had seldom heard. “We’re making progress here, Phantomhive. Wanting to believe is one step closer to believing,” he chuckled, amused by Ciel’s display of hotheadedness. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that his mind had automatically jumped to fantasizing about what the fiery agent would be like in the throes of passion; and though he knew it would lead to nowhere, it didn’t stop him asking, “What do you say to spending the night with me on Spectacle Island Phantomhive; you know, for _science_?”

***

They hadn’t been idle during the day, with Ciel running the evidence he’d collected back to a lab and talking to Sebastian about what he’d examined on Greenhill’s person in the ambulance. The deceased’s wounds were all consistent with an animal attack, except for the early onset necrosis along the severed limb and other bite marks, which had led the former doctor to surmise that some sort of venom had triggered the pernicious reaction. As such, it wasn’t too much a stretch for Phantomhive to have bought into the idea of an overgrown, venomous lizard.

Ciel had stayed in the lab to see if the samples confirmed his suspicions, while Sebastian had run out to Stone Science Library on Boston University’s campus to bone up on his knowledge of such a creature inhabiting the north Atlantic Ocean; venomous, aquatic reptiles of that size were more likely in South American waters, if they were anywhere at all. He’d even called on a local djinn who spent most of their time teaching mythology at Emerson to see if they were familiar with anything fitting Lawrence’s description or Ciel’s. He’d not been as successful in his quest as Phantomhive had been. 

When he returned, Ciel was on the edge of his seat. Though he was a seasoned and decorated medical doctor, Phantomhive showed an equal enthusiasm for the zoologic studies as he would an internal bleed or a broken bone. The lab tests revealed that the swabs he had taken all contained traces of serine proteinases and metalloproteinases -- two enzymes common in toxic snake venom. Upon further examination, high-resolution images of Greenhill’s body revealed a pattern of thecodont dentition in the bite marks, and contained evidence of envenomation within each bite. Ciel was amazed -- for a creature to produce so much venom (even if it was slow-acting) and inject it repeatedly (even in small doses) into the same prey within a few short minutes… It was completely unheard of in the herpetological community. Ciel had to know more. 

And so it was when the sun had gone down that both agents were sat upon a large blanket courtesy of the Super 8 Motel, the sandy beach of Spectacle Island sprawling before them, overlooking the Boston Harbour. Between them, Sebastian had laid a couple of flashlights, a camera, a flare, and an over-the-top picnic basket containing a few other essentials: lobster rolls, antipasti, a six pack and some chocolate covered strawberries just to get under Phantomhive’s skin. 

Once they’d eaten their fill, Sebastian flopped back onto the blanket, arms cradling his head as he looked aloft at the over-illuminated Boston sky. “For a city, it’s pretty quiet out here,” he said apropos of nothing, “that’s even with the USS Constitution firing its cannons twice a day…” 

While Ciel did not exactly appreciate the tone that had been set by the picnic basket and blanket, he was not going to pass on such a scrumptious little array of treats. He finished off another strawberry and surreptitiously licked the tips of his finger and thumb before pointing out, “Well we are almost five miles away from the nearest car or cannon.” 

Thankfully the boat they had rode out to the island on was not as far away -- it was tied up a little further down the beach, bobbing lazily in the dark water. Ciel kept glancing at it, making sure the knot Sebastian had tied in the salty rope would hold throughout their overnight stay on the island. 

Sebastian stifled a groan, unable to help watching in blatant fascination as Phantomhive’s tongue came out and cleaned his fingers of melted chocolate and strawberry juice, one by one, by one. Swallowing, he averted his gaze again, fighting for control and replayed the words he’s almost missed falling from the younger agent’s lips. “I suppose the cannons don’t seem so loud for beings with mediocre hearing,” he chuckled, crossing his legs to hide the evidence of his arousal. Some breaths later, after he felt his hunger had sufficiently abated so that he could look at his partner without a predatory glare, he asked, “Hey, Phantomhive, you don’t think that thing that attacked those boys has anything to do with the noise from all that construction with the Big Dig? A huge monster like that would have been seen by now, wouldn’t it? I mean, Cassie, the Dover Demon and Big Foot have plenty of sightings around this area.” 

“It's certainly possible,” Ciel nodded pensively. “I don't think it's a _monster_ per say… surely nothing supernatural. Though it's highly unusual, I believe that whatever this thing is, if it does exist, is the result of perfectly natural and explainable biological phenomenon.” In the deepening darkness and the emptiness of the sea before them, Ciel could feel Sebastian looking at him. And it was one of those looks. He just knew it. It was not one of judgement, but of a sad compassion -- poor little doctor can't see past the end of his nose, isn’t open to the macabre and mysterious, has locked himself away from the world in his laboratory stronghold of empiricism and doubt. 

Sebastian came up onto his elbows and though it was dark, he could see the hardening of the features set upon Ciel’s face with perfect clarity. There was resolve there in the narrowing of his eyes, stubbornness in the slight clenching of his well-defined jaw and a certain amount of stoicism in the way he pressed his lips once he’d finished speaking. “And what would you do if you came upon something you _couldn’t_ explain, Phantomhive? Something _unnatural_?” His tone was half-mocking, half-serious. Sebastian hardly cared if most mortals _believed_ , but the thought that Ciel might never come to accept his true nature had begun to fester resentfully at his core. 

“I'm only human,” Ciel sighed. “Our knowledge is finite, but it’s constantly expanding. Just because an explanation doesn’t present itself to me now, it does not mean one doesn't exist out there, somewhere, in the universe. The matter is just how I go about discovering it…. And maybe I won't, not in this lifetime at least.” 

“Your paycheck requires you to figure it out in _this_ lifetime, though Phantomhive; more specifically by the time we get back to HQ,” Sebastian drawled, exasperation thick on his tongue and replacing whatever arousal was there previously. He'd met individuals who lacked the ability to take a leap of faith before; they were dull, lacking imagination and above all else, fearful of the unknown. But his partner was none of those things: Phantomhive was sharp, creative in his thinking and brave to a fault. The stark contrast was indeed disconcerting. “What happened to you, _Ciel_ , to make you such a cynic?”

Sebastian could almost _feel_ Ciel’s features shifting into a scowl. The air felt heavy with the silence between them, the sound of the sea lapping at the shore holding still, waiting for Ciel’s answer. 

“Nothing happened,” he said, trying too hard to sound casual as he shrugged and reached in for another strawberry. “I guess I've always been this way. It's how we are, the way our culture is. We're taught to depend on science, on repeatability and objectivity; experience is the most valuable tool we have. We stand on the shoulders of Hume, after all.” Ciel busied his mouth with the luscious fruit, chocolate sticking to his teeth and a little bit of pale red juice dripping down his chin, hoping Michaelis wouldn't try to ask him any more personal questions. 

Sebastian had begun to recognize Phantomhive’s tells. Naturally, it was nothing as simple as a twitch, or fidgeting, or touching his own face. No, Ciel liked to wax poetic about philosophy and science when he was trying to avoid having to be honest.Truly, it was endearing, and set him apart from the rest of the mediocre race to which he belonged, but the fact remained that he _still_ hadn’t answered his question. 

“But there are much bigger giants on whose shoulders you could stand, should you _wish_ to see the truth, Phantomhive!” He rolled over on his side and reached out to catch the bittersweet drop falling from his partner’s chin. He caught it on his the tip of his gloved finger and brought it to his lips, amused by the incredulous look Ciel gave him. The tart taste, mixed with something that was distinctively Phantomhive, made the resulting awkwardness totally worth it. A quick shiver rocked his frame and though he’d not wanted to pick a fight with the other agent, he teased him, quoting Shakespeare, “ _There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy._ Come now, Phantomhive, you must remember a time when you didn’t need to rely on science to be your crutch.” 

“Which giant is so grand that they can know what the truth actually is? Who is so powerful to declare that?” Ciel was getting defensive, maybe a little annoyed. While his opinions differed from Michaelis, he had come to respect him, and not trounce his beliefs or ideas whenever he got the chance. He chucked the green-leafed end of the strawberry into the darkness behind them, frowning. “Science is not a _crutch_ to me,” he continued. “It’s helped me to save lives, to prolong them; it's helped me learn more about myself and my place in the world. It is a valuable tool that has helped me to get where I am today. Why are you so insistent that the way that I see things is wrong? Or it's not enough? Why is the truth that you believe in better than mine?”

His partner still refused to answer his questions, offering instead a variety of his own, and that he was so defensive about it made Sebastian all the more suspicious that he was actually hiding something. Lazily, he let his long, midnight tendrils reach out and sweep across the beach, unconsciously alerting him of shifts in atmosphere, the level of the water as it lapped languidly at the shore, and the scurrying of insubstantial lifeforms among the sandy pebbles. He didn’t want them to be taken unaware by whatever it was that had attacked the boys. Surely he could overcome it, but that would likely result in his having to lie to Phantomhive about what he was, or to alter his memory of the event. They’d gotten closer in the last little while, and he was loathe to tarnish what respect and trust they had established. “You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine,” he teased the other agent. “I know so little about you other than your past work experience. What’s your family like? Do you have any siblings? You don’t strike me as an only child.”

Ciel suddenly felt on edge, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck tingling. He barely heard Sebastian’s question, too distracted by the slight chill in the air, the creeping sensation along his spine that told him he was being watched. He shivered, and he disguised it by twisting his body around, looking in all directions for the source of his unease. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, turning back to meet Sebastian’s inquisitive stare, “what was that?” Before his thin lips could open to answer with some smarmy remark, the silence was cut with a shrill series of beeps coming from Ciel’s jacket pocket. He nearly leapt out of his skin before realizing it was his cell phone. When he withdrew it, the number on the display made him frown. 

“Sorry,” he repeated, “let me take this real quick.” He rose to his feet and meandered down the beach a ways before answering, “This is Ciel.” 

Sebastian reigned in his coiling shadows, sure that the shiver that had briefly rocked Ciel’s solid frame had been caused by a peripheral glimpse of them in the dark. It was with an almost longing expression that he watched as his partner walked away, up the sandy path and towards the sparse line of trees. He could hear him, but only just; there were a lot of muffled “mhmms”, “yeahs” and the occasional “okay,”. Once he heard, “How long has this been going on?” and then another time, “And he didn’t respond to it at all?”, but what the caller was saying to elicit such conversation was completely lost to him. It was as though there was some kind of barrier, _something_ halting the two-way communication. He rose to his feet in a blur that was much too quick to be human and ghosted along the perimeter of the small island, sniffing for anything supernatural that might be an interference. 

The source of it was spinning agitatedly between Ciel’s fingers, his hand shoved deep in his pocket. He had forgotten about the glob of carved wax the psychic Mey-Rin had imparted upon him during their first meeting some weeks ago, and having discovered it still in the pocket of his coat, was now fidgeting helplessly with it as he spoke on the phone. 

“I understand,” he said. “I can be out there this weekend… Noon, Saturday. Yes. Yes. Yes, see you then. Thank you for the call.” Ciel gave the wax talisman one final squeeze and took a deep breath as he hung up the phone. Groaning, he replaced the phone in his pocket, and turned abruptly on his heel to head back to the beach. 

“Oof!” He cursed as he took a step and slipped on the mire, his world shifting, the hard muddy ground coming up to meet his back. “Shit.” Ciel laid there for a minute, grimacing up at the sky, the bleak city gray of night matching his current mood. Everything had been going so well… And now he was going to have to take a trip up _there_ on his weekend off. Friday just couldn't come fast enough, he thought grimly to himself. Another chill ran up his spine, and a rough, cold weight closed around his ankle. 

And then Ciel was sliding along the ground, sticks and rocks digging into his back as he flailed and screamed. 

“Michaelis!! Help!” 

He tried to kick, his ineffectual little heel colliding with something firm and heavy down by his leg. He kicked and kicked and kicked, trying desperately to grab onto anything beside him. Branches, boulders, a discarded roll of caution tape and a piece of plywood. Then a sturdy coil of chain skid beneath his palm, and Ciel latched on, hoping it was tied off to something sturdy. 

He continued along the ground, struggling, and as he craned his neck, Ciel could see sharp glistening teeth, slitted yellow eyes. A flat, fleshly limb was wrapped twice around his ankle, his shoe caked in slime and mud. There was no pain, no sharp stabbing through his flesh, just pressure, and the numb scrape along his back and arms as he fumbled for his weapon. Then he stopped, the length of chain snatching on something. There was a hiss, a loud screech, and then _bang bang_. 

_Bang bang bang_ another three shots rang out as Ciel fired again, aiming the barrel of his gun down the length of the creature’s long ugly snout. There was something wet on his skin, but whether it was blood or venom or sea water, he couldn't tell. His head echoed with the creature’s scream and the sound of his weapon firing into the night. 

Sebastian had seen it prowling, menacing, xanthous eyes glowing as they narrowed on its prey. Ciel was completely unaware, sprawled on the ground; how unlike him. Whatever had transpired over the telephone was disconcerting enough to draw his attention away from the impending threat. And the demon’s curiosity was torn, split between wanting to catch a glimpse of this elusive beast and to see how Phantomhive would fare against the reptilian predator. He followed, even after he heard Ciel cry out his name, the spike in his adrenaline was delicious combined with his fear and Sebastian’s mouth watered at the presence of it thick in the salty air. His muscles twitched, readying themselves to pounce upon the fiend as he saw its unhinge its jaw to claim the young man, when five piercing shots broke through the otherwise silent night.

The demon watched from his perch set high up in a tree as it retreated to the water, lumbering painfully, inaudibly and leaving a trail of gore behind it, most of it having been splattered on Phantomhive, painting his face in the inhuman blood. _Not supernatural_ , Sebastian thought wistfully, allowing himself to fall silently to the ground, then rushing to Ciel’s side, gun in his hand, cocked and ready to go. 

“Holy fuck, Phantomhive!” he exclaimed, panting and pretending to hold a stitch at his side as he doubled over. “Are… Are you okay?” He got down on a knee and sat Ciel up, and winced genuinely when he saw the damage to his back. 

“Did you see it?” Ciel asked breathlessly, hand over his chest to calm his pounding heart. It felt like it was going to burst through his ribs, his veins pulsing with hot, adrenaline-laced blood. His head was spinning, and he still couldn't face the fact that he had actually seen its eyes and its teeth, felt its granular skin against his own. “It was unbelievable!” Suddenly, he doubled over, holding his head in his hands as the sheer realization of what he had just done washed over him. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He let it get away, he had _shot_ it, and there's no guarantee that it would ever resurface now. “Dammit…” He muttered into his hands. 

Sebastian licked his lips, and the taste of death clung to his tongue. Whatever it had been, it was dead now; would rot away at on the ocean floor. Boston residents would be relieved, the scientific community outraged, and Ciel would be… ashamed; he’d see it as a personal failing, when really this was on his partner for having been so transfixed by the way the mortal was writhing on the ground, his survival instinct peaking and his essence luminous with the desire to stay alive. He wanted to tell Ciel that he was impressed, that he’d done well, that he was more tempting now than he’d ever been, but instead, he merely stood, offering his hand, then tenderly wiped his face with his sleeve, curling it around his fingers. He started with his lips, admiring how malleable they were under his touch, moving along with the soft fabric of his shirt, then cleaned his eyes one at a time. “It’s okay, Phantomhive. I saw it vanish into the water and I think your face took most of the blood, there doesn’t seem to be any more of it.” As he talked, voice low and soothing, his tendrils swept along the bloody path, ridding it of the evidence left behind by the beast. 

“Wait,” Ciel said, grabbing Sebastian’s wrist and pulling his hand away from his blood-smeared face, “I need to save some of it somehow. I need to run tests! If we can't get the body this is the least I can do.” Despite Sebastian’s insistence, Ciel dropped to his knees, running his hands over the sand and rocks, crawling bravely, maybe foolishly, down towards the water’s edge, frowning dejectedly when he found nothing. He touched his face, making sure there was still a smattering of blood available for him to test. “You better not wash that shirt,” he advised Sebastian, “or I'll never forgive you. I need all the evidence I can get.”

***

__**Case no: F-281038J  
**  
September 5, 1996

_Several days have now passed since the string of suspicious and grisly murders in Boston, Mass. have come to an end. No further reports of missing persons or dead bodies have been filed with authorities. It is assumed that the culprit behind these murders has met its end and now lies dead and decomposing in the bottom of Boston Harbour. Descriptions from a firsthand witness and this investigator's own experiences point to a creature of unidentified reptilian descent, unheard of and unsupported in scientific communities. DNA and protein sequencing of venom and blood samples revealed genetic similarities to several extant species of reptiles belonging to the families Viperidae, Elapidae, and Sphenodontidae, but no conclusive matches were able to be made between this organism and any currently described in scientific literature. There were several areas of non-coding DNA that bear a large resemblance to ancient specimens now known to be extinct. Creatinine, urea, and blood-oxygen levels suggest that the creature in question may have been in a state of hibernation prior to its first attacks, but for exactly how long cannot be determined. If this is true, it is not unreasonable to think that the construction of the Ted Williams Tunnel, known unofficially as the Big Dig, may have disturbed this creature's rest, a testament to the deleterious effects of human advancement on natural ecosystems. However, with no more fatalities reported, the Central Artery/Tunnel Project will continue as planned. What exact evolutionary pressures led to the development of such a dangerous creature, capable of severing limb from body and injecting over 500mg of venom into an object of prey in a single setting, will perhaps never be known to us. The Massachusetts Turnpike Authority, Coast Guard officials, and Boston Police Harbor Patrol have been notified and instructed to report any and all strange or unusual sightings, but it is highly unlikely that the creature in question will resurface, at least in our lifetime._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos & Comments are always appreciated! Thank you!


	7. Patient X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're sorry it took so long to update this fic ~ life got in the way. That being said, we're quite excited to bring you this new chapter and hope you'll enjoy it too!

It took a great deal of willpower for Ciel to make his way to his room and pull off his shoes, socks, and slacks before climbing into bed Sunday night. The living room couch looked so inviting when he finally unlocked his front door and stumbled over the threshold, but he knew how twisted up his back would be the next day if he collapsed and spent the night there. And after this weekend, it was the last thing he needed. 

Saturday morning had passed in a blur. Ciel was on the road right as the sun was rising and drove over the Connecticut state line just before lunch time. A dull tingling sensation had crept up his legs and his back and settled in his bones three hours into his drive; his head was growing heavy and he could see the bright lines of the highway stretching on forever even when he closed his eyes. His mind was utterly blank, all of his attention on the road before him, dissociating from everything beyond the shoulder of the highway as he made his way to his destination. 

A low growl vibrated in his stomach, and Ciel put a hand to his belly, frowning. He had stopped along the way in Baltimore for coffee and a croissant, but once he got back on the road and thought about where he was headed, his appetite escaped him. He chucked the pastry out the window and drank about a third of the coffee the rest of the four-hour drive. Unfortunately lunch would now have to wait; it would take him at least another hour to reach the psychiatric facility on the edge of Hartford, and the doctors were expecting him. 

The Bureau-issued handgun had been left in his car, along with the smaller caliber pistol he kept on an ankle holster most days as he dashed across the parking lot and up to the front doors of the Wells Psychiatric Hospital. Ciel had only been into the facility a handful of times, receiving most of his updates and consultations via phone, but he vividly remembered the garish furniture and feng shui of the front lobby. 

“And who are you here to see today?” 

Running late, Ciel finished scrawling his name on the sign-in sheet and responded to the receptionist’s polite tone with a gruff reply, “Patient’s last name is Phantomhive.” The man behind the desk nodded, and checked something off on a sheet of paper before handing Ciel a laminated visitor badge. 

“Dr. Doyle will be with you shortly if you’d like to have a seat there. Or I can have someone take you upstairs now if you’d like to visit...?”

“No, thank you,” Ciel said curtly, clipping the tag to his lapel, “I’d like to speak with the doctor as soon as possible.” With a cordial nod, the receptionist returned to his work, leaving Ciel alone in silence with his thoughts. 

Even though he was late, maybe even because he was late, Ciel was made to sit in the lobby of the reception area on the creamsicle orange couch for another fifteen minutes before the doctor arrived and beckoned him. The two greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries as they rode the elevator up to the third floor and then continued in silence to Doyle’s office at the end of the hall. 

“I appreciate you taking the time to come up here, Mr. Phantomhive,” the young, mousy-haired doctor began timidly. Instead of taking his place behind the desk, he simply picked up an olive green folder from the blotter atop it and sat in the chair closest to Ciel, who nodded perfunctorily. 

“Not a problem,” he said, though there were plenty of other problems he could’ve taken care of this weekend, like the leaky faucet in his bathroom or the stack of paperwork on his desk at the office. 

“I know it must not be easy for you to find the time, but I thought that it was imperative we spoke in person. Your brother has been doing well, as you know, but lately, within the past two weeks, he has started having outbursts that are causing us some concern, and we wanted to bring you in to discuss the best course of action in his treatment.” 

Ciel nodded, recalling the incidents the doctor had briefly described on the phone the other night. While his brother had been mostly non-verbal for the past ten years, he had recently started speaking again, but the things he had been saying were not a cause for rejoicing. When he spoke, it was only dark and ominous phrases; predictions about his own death, the death of others, of pain, of unknown terrors. It freaked the nurses out. The doctors were worried that he was at risk of harming himself or others. The incident that had warranted calling Ciel out to the hospital happened early Tuesday morning, when his brother attacked a nurse that tried to escort him down to the mess hall for breakfast. 

Ciel found himself drifting out, nodding absentmindedly when he thought it was warranted, though his mind was a thousand miles and twenty years away. The hospital smell was fresh in his nostrils, and he could feel a sharp pain in his head where someone was pulling harshly on a handful of his hair. It was his brother, his diamond patterned paper gown sliding off his shoulders as he screamed at his brother, ripping his hair out at the roots. 

“ _It’s your fault_!” He shrieked, his other hand gripping Ciel’s shoulder tightly, pinching the skin under his nails. “ _You left me alone_!”

Ciel tried to defend himself, “ _I didn’t have a choice_ ,” but his brother wouldn’t hear it. To him, Ciel had abandoned him, had left him for dead. It wasn’t fair; Ciel was only twelve years old, how was he supposed to fight off three grown men after he’d been malnourished and kept in cuffs for all that time? It was as if he had no more tears to shed after all they had been through, and he sat there stoically, taking his older brother’s beatings until a nurse came running to separate them. 

“Would you like to see him?” Doyle asked. The picture in Ciel’s mind splintered, the memories dissolving as the doctor spoke. “Our _‘enrichment time’_ is finishing up about now; I believe he’s in the library if you would want to try speaking with him now.” Ciel nodded, his mouth set in a firm line. 

It had been almost three years since Ciel had seen his brother. The two were twins, peas in a pod growing up, indiscernible except to their parents. Even as they aged and Ciel joined the Academy, the older remained a spitting image of his younger-by-nineteen-minutes baby brother, differentiated only by the definition of their muscles and the buzzed haircut and olive green outfit that the hospital provided. Except now, Ciel’s twin looked like a mere shadow of him, a ghost of their shared self. 

“ _He’s stopped taking meals_ ,” Ciel vaguely remembered Doyle saying. “ _He won’t let the staff touch him_.”

His hair had grown out, greasy and scraggly and unkempt, and his jawline was darkened by several days of unshaven scruff. Dark circles hung under his now-dulled sapphire eyes, and his shoulders and elbows stuck out sharply beneath his pale green shirt, his frame thin and gaunt. He sat curled inward on himself on an upholstered desk chair, arms around his knees, eyes wide and unblinking as he focused at a point on the floor. 

Ciel drew himself up, filled his lungs with air that smelled of antiseptic and plastic, the smells of infirmity, masked by the unmistakable musk of books. Working at the FBI, he had dealt with loss plenty of times, but it had always been secondhand; families torn apart by death and loss or tormented by questions left unanswered and reasons unexplained. It had just never happened to him, not since he had become an agent and gained a false sense of security as a result. It made him feel in control, safe. And now he was faced with the sharp reality of his life and situation, reunited with the dark history he could no longer pretend to ignore. 

“Hey, bud,” he said softly, his voice cracking as he stepped up beside his brother, hands in his pockets, a sad smile on his face. “How are you?” The husk of a man before him did not reply. The sunken set of eyes merely flicked up to Ciel’s face -- a prolonged blink followed by a cold, unwavering stare. Desperately, Ciel searched for any spark of recognition, a flicker of acknowledgement as he pulled out the nearest chair and sat beside his brother. It was painful to see the way he flinched, drew himself further up and into his own chair, grabbing a book off the table and clutching it to his chest as if in defense; Ciel fought to keep a warm, positive smile on his face. 

“Oh, what are you reading?” he asked. “Is it any good?” He was elated to see his brother nod, ever so slightly. 

It was an uphill battle trying to hold a conversation with the once-radiant Phantomhive, and it had been that way for years, but Ciel could not sit back and accept it. Once he finally released his white-knuckled grip on the book, Ciel attempted several times to entice his brother into talking to him, asking him about what book he was currently reading, his hair growing out, their cousin Lizzy and her upcoming marriage, the food they served at lunch, if he was still drawing. Slowly, he began to answer some of the questions, either with a simple shake of the head or a nod, a thumbs up or thumbs down, a scale of one to five on his fingers. 

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When it was time for his group therapy session, Ciel accompanied his brother (along with the nurse who came to collect him) upstairs to the common room where several other patients were gathering. Ciel did not fail to notice how his brother shied away from the nurse, even going so far as to switch sides in the hallway, placing Ciel in the middle between them. 

Outside the room, Ciel said a brief goodbye, assuring his brother that he would return tomorrow, though he wasn’t sure if he registered that fact or cared. He merely nodded, turned on his heel, and walked into the lounge, pulling away from the nurse as they tried to guide him to a car. From the doorway, Ciel watched as his twin dragged his chair across the floor, situating himself at the periphery of the group, facing the door. The two brothers made eye contact and held it, an ice pick twisting in Ciel’s heart until Doyle came up behind him and cleared his throat. 

“Is he usually this anti-social?” Ciel asked, causing the doctor’s best bedside manner smile to falter slightly. 

“Yes, lately he has been exhibiting extreme distrust for the staff and our other residents,” he explained, leading Ciel down the hall away from the therapy room. 

“Does he… did he have any friends here, before these behavior changes happened?” 

“There was one patient, yes… A young man named Finnian. The two would often eat together, walk the grounds during their free time. Finnian passed away about a year ago… I’m not sure it really registered with him until recently.”

Ciel nodded silently. While he felt lonely sometimes, devoid of any meaningful relationships, he was suddenly, shockingly aware of the crushing isolation that his brother must feel, all of the time. Something bitter and sad washed over him, and he could not stand to be in the hospital any longer. 

The feeling followed him all the way to his hotel room, clung to him as he ate his dinner, hovered just beneath the surface even as he tried to drown it with alcohol. The memories fought against the gin and tonics, the scotch and sodas; clawed their way to the forefront of Ciel’s mind until he was ordering double shots at the bar and calling a cab home, where he fell asleep with all his clothes on. 

In the morning, Ciel was plagued with his worst hangover in years, and he took extra long in the shower, resting his head against the wall and dreading the day. After dealing with his brother at the hospital, he would have to drive all the way back home and be up for work the following morning. He couldn’t wait to get started and get it over with. 

Unfortunately, he discovered that his car was not in the motel parking lot, and he would have to take a cab across town to pick it up from the bar where he left it before he could make it to the hospital. In his eagerness to get away from the melancholy and gripping guilt of the psychiatric institution, he had driven to the furthest possible bar and gotten wantonly drunk. And now he was being punished for his escape. 

He arrived extremely late to the hospital where he was informed that Dr. Doyle was now in a meeting and would be with him when he could. His brother was in the cafeteria, finishing lunch, and he could visit with him if he wanted. Wanted was a strong word, but Ciel felt compelled to see him, so he let a nurse guide him upstairs to the linoleum lined room where he saw his brother sitting alone at one of the tables. Ciel took a seat beside him, greeting him quietly and tactfully, “Hey, you. How’s it going?” 

All he got was another long blink. 

There was an orange lunch tray on the table piled with food -- a turkey sandwich with cheese, lettuce and tomato plus a pickle spear on the side; a fruit cup with real, freshly cut fruit; a small now-cold bowl of macaroni and cheese; crunchy kettle chips, and a chocolate chip cookie for dessert. All of it untouched, the glass of water still full, the ice long since melted. 

“Mind if I have a bite?” He teased. There was no response from his identical companion, but Ciel reached for the fork on the tray nonetheless, quietly hoping that when he speared a cube of pineapple his older brother would grab his arm, twisting his wrist until he dropped the utensil like he used to when they were young. 

The spoon and fork on the tray were real silverware, not some cheap plastic set, and Ciel’s stomach murmured and he thought to himself how good it all looked, especially for _hospital food_. Without thinking, he started in on the fruit cup, unaware that his brother’s eyes were tracking his every move. To his surprise, and delight, he was prevented from eating too much; after several juicy mouthfuls of fruit and a single bite of the sandwich, Ciel’s brother grabbed a corner of the tray and yanked it towards himself, upsetting some grapes and sending a few chips skittering across the table in the process. He hovered over the food covetously, glaring at Ciel for a moment before he dug into his meal with ravenous gusto. Ciel smiled, happy to see that some things didn’t change. 

When they were kids, they would share food all the time. It always brought them together. Even though their dinners were identical, the twins would kick each other under the table and steal scoops of mashed potatoes or pieces of ravioli off each other’s plate. They used to cook with their father when they were little, drowning in their mother’s aprons at the kitchen counter. Ciel remembered his brother feeding him when he was sick in bed. 

Abruptly, the tray was returned to him, most of the food left half-eaten, and when Ciel looked up, his brother was smiling, too. He pointed to the tray, then to Ciel. 

Ciel shook his head, “No thanks, bud, I already ate,” though his stomach was angry at being teased with lunch, “you go ahead and finish it. It looks pretty good.” Gingerly, Ciel pushed the tray back towards his brother, and was relieved when he accepted it and continued eating. 

There was a paper napkin with some black sketching on it sitting beside the tray that Ciel had not noticed until he went to scoop up a chip that had fallen on the table. He popped it into his mouth and reached for the napkin out of casual curiosity. The second his fingers touched the paper, his brother eagerly began to push it towards him, and Ciel’s heart dropped into his stomach as he looked closer at the drawings. 

There was a long, gnarly scythe sketched along the corner of the napkin. Beneath that, a pair of glasses on a beaded chain. A locket. Two rows of triangles, their points alternating and facing inward. An eye with a vertical slitted pupil. A series of rectangles and squares, what Ciel realized was a building with its doors opened wide, with thirteen crosses inside. One had been circled so many times with the pen that it had begun to tear through the fibers of the napkin. 

“Did you draw this?” Ciel asked with an even voice, and his brother was already nodding, his chapped lips cracking as he turned them up into an even bigger smile. Proud as ever. He held up four fingers, then pointed his index at Ciel. _For you_. 

Realization weighed heavy in Ciel’s gut. It made him sick, the dry salt of the chip burning in his mouth. A month ago he would have written the doodles off as mere chicken scratch, the product of a man who was not healthy, stunted emotionally and psychologically from the trauma he experienced in his youth. But now Ciel had the blind psychic’s predictions lingering in his mind: a hanger with thirteen patients, a razor-toothed individual. Sitting in that gaudy room, thick with incense and awkwardness, it was easy to brush off her visions as simple malarkey, a ploy that his partner fell for every time. 

The napkin in his hand made him think twice. 

When Ciel grew up, graduated, and moved away, he shut himself off from the supernatural, from the unseen forces he felt pressing against him day after day. His brother had felt it, too. They were conduits, that’s what their mother said; their souls so pure they couldn’t help but attract the more troubled and needy ones around them. They were lightning rods, young and innocent and loving. Open, vulnerable. Completely receptive to the world, they received premonitions and visitations almost weekly. They got chills when they entered the same room, had the same nightmares on the same nights, felt they were being watched by the same forces. 

All of that for stopped for Ciel by the time he was twenty-five. He became cold and calculating, refusing to believe the tingle in his spine or the twinge in his stomach was anything more than a simple cold chill or a bad burrito. Science gave him a sense of certainty and the Bureau gave him a sense of control. 

But his brother didn’t have those things. While Ciel closed himself off, his brother opened up. Inwardly, of course -- the outside world seemed to want nothing to do with him, and Ciel suspected that he felt the same. He turned inward, and in doing so, made himself available once again, now vulnerable in a different way. The Phantomhive boys were never scared when they were little, even though they heard, saw, and felt things that no one around them could explain. The twins felt loneliness, separation; the chill of the unknown and the pain of losing everything you knew. But they never felt malice, never felt danger. 

What sought Ciel’s brother out now was different. He knew it. Whatever he was feeling was not innocent. It was dark and foreboding; a bad omen. His drawings and demeanor made it perfectly clear. Ciel didn’t know if it would hurt him. Such a thing had never happened before, and the possibility scared him. He couldn’t afford to take off work and stay close to his brother and he couldn’t afford to relocate him. Nor could he afford to lose the only real family he had left. 

“Well thanks, buddy,” Ciel said, offering up a weak smile. “Can you… could you tell me what it means? Why did you draw this?” 

At first, he thought that he would actually get an answer — his brother opened his mouth, only to close it again, and then repeat the motion as he began to shake his head violently. He raised a fist and pointed a thumb down and began to rock gently back and forth on his seat. Ciel pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to think. 

“Okay,” he said gently, his mind racing, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to see you’re still drawing. You were always more artistic than I was. Mom kept all the cards and pictures you drew, forever. Had a whole crate full of them in the garage…” Ciel was just grasping for some semblance of normality; superficial as it was, it was all he had. His brother nodded absentmindedly, like he heard but wasn’t listening. He slowly stopped rocking back and forth, nibbled timidly on the cookie. 

Hesitantly, Ciel reached out, needing to make some contact with his brother, even if he got punched in the face or screamed at in return. Three years without seeing him had taken a much larger toll than he realized. To his surprise, he managed to rest his hand on his brother’s shoulder, gently, and meet his sad, dim blue eyes at least once before saying goodbye. 

“I have to go now, okay? You take care of yourself; let the doctors help you. They don’t want to hurt you. Trust me. I’ll come back and see you when I can,” Ciel said, and he made sure to promise himself. “If you get scared… or if something happens, if someone tries to hurt you, go to Dr. Doyle, okay? He will call me, and I can be here right away.” His brother did not respond, of course, but he allowed Ciel to bend down and place a light kiss on the crown of his head, completely unaware that the agent’s heart was cracking in his chest. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” 

Outside the cafeteria, Dr. Doyle was waiting for Ciel, his meeting having finished just moments ago. “He is doing better, I admit,” Dr. Doyle said eventually, walking briskly alongside Ciel. “He is not back to his regular demeanor, but the outbursts have subsided. We increased his dosages and have kept him rather sedated since the incident, and it seems to have calmed him.” 

Ciel fingered the fibers of the napkin in his pocket as he made his way to the exit. The only thing on his mind was getting home. The only thing he could think to do was go back to the psychic. He had to find out what the connection was, if there even was one. 

“Lower the dosages,” he said suddenly. “Put him back on his regular regimen. I don’t want him all doped up and drooling. That’s no way for him to live. He can’t defend himself like that, either,” he added to himself, fearing that the cocktail of antipsychotics and sedatives would leave him even more vulnerable, more susceptible to whatever it was that was affecting him. “Just call me if something happens. I mean anything — if he has a bad dream, or throws his peas at a nurse in the cafeteria. If he so much as gets a papercut, you call me and let me know. I want to be kept in the loop, okay, Doctor? Can you do that for me?”

There was a matter of the monthly payment to attend to, but once it was assured that his brother would continue to receive treatment and housing from the psychiatric hospital, Ciel was back on the road, headed for home. His thoughts were a mess, running through his mind at 75 miles an hour, crossing the centerline of his consciousness over and over again. 

It only slowed once he pulled into his driveway, climbed up the front steps and unlocked the door to his tiny one bedroom house. By then, he only had thoughts of sleep, and he fumbled his way through the near dark to his bedroom and kicked off his shoes. He threw his overnight bag to the floor, tugged off his pants, and fell head first into bed, unaware of the dark presence speeding through his neighborhood, skimming the rooftops and tree boughs and nearly giving old Mr. Tanaka and his little Schnauzer across the street heart attacks as he did so. Ciel fell asleep almost immediately, so glad he was to be home. He didn’t dream at all that night.

***

For the first time since he’d been doing Lau’s dirty deeds for this sweatsac of a federal system, Sebastian truly felt he was being punished. Not because he’d been given a shit case, or because his Master had found yet another way to starve him; no, it was simply because a certain five-foot-eight-inched, slate-haired, irascible associate had denied him his company this weekend.

In the few months they’d been partnered, Phantomhive had never taken time off, nor had he ever turned down overtime. And since they’d returned from Boston, Sebastian was unable to shake the sight of Ciel almost being devoured by that _monster_ and his subsequent self-defense from behind his eyelids. It got even worse when he lay stiffly on his motel bed in his work clothes and waited, wound tight and painfully hard, for the hours to pass, waited until he could lose himself in Phantomhive's pheromones again and sample his essence when he least suspected it. 

No such luck this weekend; which was how he’d found himself parked outside Mey-Rin’s home, aggravated and holding onto the steering wheel, pulling deep breaths through his nose and expelling them in a hiss through his clenched teeth. So absorbed was he by his thoughts of Ciel that he was caught unaware by sharp raps against the driver’s side window. 

“Are you going to come inside Sebastian? Or shall I get into the passenger seat for us to finally talk?” Mey-Rin called out through the glass separating them. 

Sebastian grunted noncommittally in response, reached over the console and pulled the lock up for the psychic. He listened to the way her hand skimmed the hood of the car as she made her way around, and by the time she was sitting next to him, he regretted admitting her into the vehicle. Within two and a ninth seconds, Ciel’s fragrant bouquet was replaced with the cheap sage-scented incense that clung to her hair and clothes. 

Mey-Rin removed a cigarette from her pocket, rolled the window down and using her _zippo_ , lit the cancer stick. She took a long drag and blew the smoke out to her left in a series of rings that floated unnaturally towards the driver. “You’re a pathetic little demon without your pet, aren’t you, Sebastian?” she assessed, reclining in her seat and making herself comfortable.

“Shut the hell up,” Sebastian grumbled beckoning the little puffs of smoke with a subtle curling of his forked tongue. The little circlets danced along the wet fleshy muscle before sliding down his throat, but didn’t hold the appeal it used to. Sure, it was much easier to be himself with the psychic; there was no cloak and dagger act, no need for diplomacy or civility either, but he prefered Phantomhive’s company. Everything else paled in comparison. 

“Touchy,” she teased, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt as she stared blankly ahead, “still want to eat him?” 

“Not in the way you think.”

A smile stretched across Mey-Rin’s painted lips as she tapped her cigarette against the window and let the ashes fall outside. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it is,” she smirked slyly. 

A growl reverberated in his chest as Sebastian’s mind drifted to a naked Phantomhive splayed on his bed, belly down, ass pushed up in the air and gripping cheap motel sheets. Holding him firmly by the hips, the devil would spread him apart, lick up and down his cleft, lash his sharp tongue against his pretty pink pucker, lap at it eagerly and squeeze into the beckoning heat. Stretch him. Soothe him. Excite him. Make him beg. Make him come. And eat that as well. 

“My shop is across the street,” Mey-Rin whispered, sensing Sebastian’s hunger ebb and flow in her presence. How long had it been since he’d consumed any of the synthetic soul she’d made him? She hoped Ciel was still okay, and as her elegant, skilled fingers found themselves between his thighs, kneading and caressing the clothed needy flesh, she hoped she could stave off the demon and keep the agent that much safer. 

There was a sound of snapping twigs as Sebastian grasped her fingers, stilled them and brought them almost at eye level. She didn’t whimper, nor did she seem caught of guard by the devil’s swift, punishing grip. “No,” he snarled. It felt like a betrayal to be touched by someone other than Ciel. _Ridiculous._ He did not belong to the mortal. Phantomhive was not his _Master_. “But I appreciate the offer,” he said a bit more kindly as he regarded his _friend_. “Do you need more sight? Is this why you called me nine times last week?” 

Mey-Rin withdrew her newly injured hand from Sebastian while the other flicked the remaining cigarette from the car. She blew out the remnants of smoke from her mouth and faced forward again, keeping her broken digits flat on her lap, her face calm, pleased by Sebastian’s rejection. He had obviously developed a strong attachment to his little mortal, which was no surprise based on what she’d observed the last time and what she knew of demons and their possessiveness. 

“Something like that. I’ve had a new vision; one that will not only be important for your case, but for you personally.”

When he’d finally reigned in some of his more diabolic compunctions, his hand sought hers and hovered an inch above, letting heat seep from it and wash over her injury. Her fingers flexed and bent seconds later as if trying to shake off the numbness. He did not apologize, and she did not say thank you. 

“Well...“ he urged, impatience thick in his tone. He was still annoyed with the psychic and saw fit to blame her for his inability to find Phantomhive; whatever she had given him was responsible for erasing any trace of him. Once informed by the bureau that his partner had taken the weekend off, he’d scoured the city in search of him, unable to feel his distinct pulsing aura or to catch his familiar, mouthwatering scent. When he came up empty handed, he moved outward, looking in nearby towns and counties, until he’d combed through the whole state. Food, rest, satiation had all fallen by the wayside for more than a day, and now here he was, counting down the seconds until nine a.m., Monday morning. “What's this vision?”

“It’s Ciel, Sebastian…” she began, looking at him, but not seeing him. “He’s going to be taken, he’ll be part of the _Lucky Thirteen_."

“What?” he spat. “And you've given him that damnable talisman?” He was on her immediately, fingers around her skinny neck, clenching, gripping around her convulsive swallowing and hitched breaths; and so help him he would not heal her wounds this time if something had happened to Ciel. 

Mey-Rin made sounds, since she could not speak, clawing at the inky, strangling appendage crushing her windpipe with her left hand. Her right hand dug into her pocket and produced a vial of of scintillating fluid that sloshed along the sides as she shook with the effort it took to hold it up.

“What's this?” Sebastian growled, removing some of the pressure from her throat, but not releasing her completely; he knew from experience that the witch was cunning -- she had bested him a number of times either through her quick reflexes or her sorcery. 

“Release me demon, or you’ll not find out.” Her threat was double-edged and she felt through his fiery depths that he understood. If he did not let her go, she’d not elaborate on her vision or offer any of her help. Lucky for Sebastian, he had the good sense to comply and once she could breathe properly again, she spoke.

“This is your little pet’s essence, he left some DNA the last time you were both over. As soon as I had my vision, I set to work on _this_. It won’t undo my talisman, but the closer you are to him, the bluer the essence will become. If you’re standing next to him, it should shine as brightly as a dying star,” she explained, handing over her concoction and pulling out a second vial of synthetic soul from her pocket. “And you know what this is. I thought you might need some more.”

Sebastian took both offerings greedily, barely acknowledging her generosity before peppering her with questions. “But is he fine _now_? Have they taken him? Did you see _who_ took him? Damn it, Mey-Rin, talk!”

Her false eyes rolled back at his theatrics and she gripped the door handle to make her exit. “He's fine for now and most likely at home. The sun has gone down hasn't it? I'm not exactly sure _when_ it will happen, only that it will be after New Orleans. Keep a close eye on him, demon. He’s important to more than just yourself.” With her final warning she pushed open the door and her scent carried outdoors, leading the way.

“Wait,” Sebastian demanded, looking as contrite as it was possible for his kind. “Thank you.” His large hand covered her forehead removing from her memory the instances he’d caused her pain this evening, as was his habit, and replaced them with the gift of psychometry and thoughtography, two notable psychic abilities he thought might serve _him_ best in the coming future. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and when she exited the car with a _call me when he gets taken, I'll help, _he wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt to rid himself of her flavour.__

__Abandoning his car in a nearby parking lot, he took to the night sky, preferring the speed it allowed him to reach Phantomhive's address. Sure enough, the agent’s car was in the driveway of the humble dwelling and the vial in his talons grip was the brightest of blues. He made himself comfortable on the shingled roof, leaned back to take in the vastness laid out before him, and sighed contentedly as he made out the subtle snoring from the master bedroom._ _

____

***

Once the sun came over the horizon, Sebastian’s anxiety lessened marginally. Though he knew deep down it wasn’t the case, something about light chasing the dark away made the world seem safer. It was a fallacy humans had made up, and since he’d posed as one long enough, he had begun thinking in a similar fashion. As a monster himself, a stalker of prey, a predator of the worst kind, he rejoiced in their comfort and perceived safety in the daylight hours -- such trust was a delicious prelude to the meal itself.

Regardless, he scanned Phantomhive’s neighborhood quickly, shadowed tendrils snaking along the heavy fog, searching for something unnatural. When all his senses confirmed that the other agent was indeed secure for the time being, he rushed along the back lanes to where he’d abandoned his car and even stopped a moment at the drive-thru to pick his partner up a coffee and donut; not exactly a morning person, Phantomhive would be less irascible with a bit of sugar and caffeine in him. 

No less than four minutes after leaving the quaint little bungalow, he parked his car next to Phantomhive’s and marched up to the front door, soft briefcase under one arm, and coffee and pastry in his other hand. 

The sharp rap at his door roused Ciel from his static state, dead asleep in his bed with his slacks unbuttoned around his waist. It was insistent, the knocking, and he scowled, his head pounding as he rolled out of bed and shuffled to the door. 

“What the hell do you want?” He instantly recognized the glimpse of dark hair he saw through the glass panels at the top of the door and couldn’t help but grouse as he unlocked it and swung it open. 

Sebastian pushed past Phantomhive, waltzing in like he owned the damn place, slightly irked by the less than warm welcome after he’d spent his weekend agonizing about his partner’s whereabouts. He deposited his items on the kitchen counter, shrugged out of his trenchcoat and helped himself to a barstool. “It’s Monday morning, Phantomhive; the FBI doesn’t stop working just because you needed a holiday.” 

“My workday doesn’t start for another two hours, Michaelis,” Ciel pointed out as he flipped on his coffee pot and set to making his morning cup. “Couldn’t this wait until I made it to the office?”

“I’m saving us time, as usual, Agent.” Sebastian sighed and pushed the cup of coffee he’d purchased some minutes ago towards Ciel, and then retrieved a file from the briefcase. “If we’re going to make it to New Orleans by tomorrow, we’re going to want to leave in the next twenty or so minutes. You can thank me for saving you a trip into the office once we’re in the car.” 

It took a moment for the gesture to register with Ciel, who sat looking at the disposable cup with a raised brow as Sebastian spoke. The two exchanged a look, and when his partner nodded, Ciel reached out and accepted the still-steaming cup, nodding his own thanks, both for the drink and the foresight. “Tell me about this case in New Orleans, won’t you?”

Sebastian gave Ciel a list of victims and their suspected murderers. Seven pairs and each resided in the heart of The Big Easy, maybe a few blocks from one another. “Outwardly, it doesn’t seem like _much_ , and I wouldn’t normally give it any attention if it wasn’t for the sheer frequency that it’s been happening.” That, and the fact that their superior had insisted they get out there as soon as possible to take over for the NOPD who’d done nothing but bungle the case since it first started two months ago. 

While Ciel examined the contents of the manila folder, Sebastian withdrew a VHS tape from a black case and inserted it into the player in the living room. Thanks to the open concept flow of the other agent’s dwelling, he would have a clear view of what was about to play. 

“This is footage from the Coles backyard just two weeks ago.” 

A black and white security footage showed a woman thrashing on an outdoor chaise longue as a man aggressively buried his face between her legs. Her head was thrown back, her hands grasping the man’s hair, forcing him deeper. “You might have deduced that the pairs in this case are married couples, which was why they shared surnames. This is Irene and her husband Maurice; oh don’t be such a prude, you need to watch this,” Sebastian teasingly instructed Ciel as he looked away, brows furrowed in disgust. The demon sped the video through Maurice mounting his wife, then taking her to the pool to finish. “Here’s where it gets interesting,” he pointed out. 

As Irene found her second climax, her husband’s hands wrapped around her throat from behind and his eyes flashed inhumanly. The strangling didn’t seem to bother her at first, but the more she struggled, the more Maurice’s face lit up with ecstatic pleasure. As the male reached orgasm, he could be seen pushing his wife’s head violently into the water and held her there, calmly ignoring her flailing, until she became motionless. In the time that it took Irene’s body to be released and float to the top of the water, Maurice had vanished. 

“Wait, it’s not done,” Sebastian told Phantomhive, fast-forwarding the VHS an hour ahead to when Maurice returned to the backyard, clad in business attire to find his wife dead and bloated. The man was all panic as he jumped into the pool fully clothed to retrieve her. “Before you ask, Maurice Cole has a _watertight_ alibi. He was tied up in meetings all day with investors at his firm. No less than fifteen people can confirm his presence.” 

This was not what Ciel needed to be seeing first thing in the morning. Tired, disgruntled, and distracted, he now had to watch some grainy black and white snuff film with his partner in the same room. He knew that Michaelis didn’t need to show him the whole film, he could’ve skipped right to the man’s final thrusts and made his point all the same. It was almost like he knew how long it had been since Ciel had gotten any action, how the stress from work was starting to get to him and how absolutely touch starved he was. And of course he just had to mess with him. Ciel sighed. 

Michaelis had mentioned that six other couples had befallen the same fate as poor Irene, and that strange fact pulled Ciel from his bitter reverie. He had to admit there was something peculiar about the case, something that warranted a second look. Sure, Mrs. Cole could have easily been having an affair with a man that resembled her husband and was killed by that man in a perverted fit of passion, but he couldn’t help but be curious about the others. Had each spouse met their end in the same twisted fashion? 

So Ciel let himself be ushered around his own house in preparation for their departure, watering the pitiful house plants he kept before leaving them alone again, fixing a second cup of coffee for the road. He cleaned out his overnight bag and packed it with fresh essentials, slinging it over his shoulder as he headed out the front door, lemon danish hanging from his mouth as he locked up his little yellow house and followed Sebastian to his car.


End file.
